


The Kids Aren't Alright

by MrBendezedrine



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, Bullying, Coming of Age, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, High School Never Ends, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Student Patrick Stump, Teacher Pete Wentz, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teen Angst, gay as heck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-08-27 23:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBendezedrine/pseuds/MrBendezedrine
Summary: In which Patrick is a high school student, albeit a sad one. All he really needs is someone to help him, someone to be there for him.In which Pete is a substitute teacher, willing to give help to anyone who needs it. Including Patrick. Especially Patrick.-----"And I'm trying to be better. I really am. You're a large part of me being happy. Whenever I'm with you, I generally can't help it but feel happy. And so I'm with you and I'll be fine one day but one tiny thing will tick me off and send me back into this hole all over again."He rubbed my hand, which he had still not let go of. "I get how you feel, I know what it feels like. Like the world is out to get you. Like whenever it rains, it pours. Am I right?""Exactly." I breathed, and then it hit me. "Wait-""There's a reason why I was so drawn to you when I met you. Why I took one look at you and knew that you were dying. Like you were drowning and watching everyone else swimming around you."





	1. Stuck In The Jetwash

Someone once asked me what it was like to be me.

It fucking sucks.

It's like you're drowning and everyone else is swimming. It's like you're crying and everyone around you is laughing. Like you're falling while everyone else is flying, like you're dying while everyone else is living. Living in vivid, bright colors, and I'm just alone in black and white.

It's like I'm fading away while everyone around me is shining brighter than ever. I'm trying to grasp on to even the smallest ounce of life that everyone seems to possess. It bounces off the walls of the hallways in rays of laughs and smiles, but it always seems to reflect around me. I'm wallowing through this abyss of darkness and despair while everyone is gliding through the radians of light, swimming and laughing and flying and living as I'm drowning and crying and falling and dying.

And all I can do is sit there and watch.

I haven't always been like this. Just last year I was one of those people gliding through the halls, absorbing the light and throwing around smiles and living a life that any High School Sophomore should. I was happy and no one bullied me and I could walk around school without having to hide my face or skirt around anyone.

When I decided to come out at the beginning of this year, everything changed.

All of my friends immediately abandoned me. Joe and Andy, my two best friends, were going to start a band with me at the beginning of this junior year. But they couldn't stand to play music with a faggot like myself. All of my other friends slowly began to fade away. Some truly did accept me, but they didn't want to be labeled as a friend of a homosexual. I was a freak, the monster, the kid that no one wanted around anymore. At first, I said  _fuck them, who cares?_ I couldn't care less about the names that were thrown my way, and I didn't believe that no one loved me.

But I soon did.

I'm thrown against a locker every day. I sit alone at lunch and watch as everyone is living their lives around me. I've gotten to the point where I can't take it anymore. I end up running from class to class in order to avoid the bullies in the hall, only to be confronted by them when I'm the first person in the room of my next class. I've ended up eating locked in a bathroom stall, crying as I stare at my food and wonder if it's really worth it.

What are you supposed to do when everything crumbles around you?

It gets worse by the day. I begin to believe the things that people tell me I am.  _Faggot. Monster. Freak. Pathetic. Useless. Worthless. Better off dead._  I go home and lie awake at night, trying to forget everything that's happened to me over the past six months. But the scars and bruises that pollute my body beneath my clothes are constant reminders that no one loves me.

My heart isn't breaking anymore. My heart can't even feel anymore. I used to feel the sting every time someone threw me into the corner or broadcasted my contagious homosexuality for all to laugh at. But over the past six months of the beatings and abuse, I've grown used to it all. Sometimes it hurts, but it's okay because I'm used to it. The pain reminds me that I'm alive. But I begin to feel the pain less and less. My heart has become more of a dark, cold cell rather than a pumping and thriving organ. It doesn't supply my body with blood and oxygen, but it instead sends this abyss of emptiness and numbness through my veins.

I've stopped putting effort into everything. I've stopped caring about the way I dress. I'll wear the same pair of jeans to school several days in a row because I can't be bothered to change them. I've stopped caring so much for my hygiene. I've stopped caring about everything. I've stopped doing my work the in three AP classes my parents and teachers pressured me into taking. I'm failing almost all of my classes, and I hear shit about it from my mother every day. She doesn't seem to notice that I'm not okay at all. It's not that I'm struggling with the class, it's just that I'm struggling with the burden of making it through every individual day.

People tell me to just get over my depression. But people who don't have it just don't get it. Would you ever go up to someone with cancer and say "get over it?"

Depression is like a war. You either win or die trying. I feel like I bother people just by being alive. I'm worthless. Pointless. Useless, pathetic, depressed. I guess you could say that I'm just tired. Tired of trying, tired of hoping, tired of coping. Of existing, breathing, living.

I'm tired of being tired.


	2. When It Rains, It Pours

_"I wonder if killing yourself is the only thing you can control in your life, and that's why it's a sin. Because you're beating God at his own game." –Gray, Pete Wentz_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

At the beginning of every quarter, teachers always try to tell you that you can start over. You basically have an A in every class, and it's easy to work and maintain your perfection. That now is the time to "shape up" and stop procrastinating on everything.

They also tell you junior year is the most important year of your high school career. That this is the year that colleges look at the most, because when you apply to them you're barely a quarter into your senior year. So right after midterms, they're always pressuring you more than you could even imagine. Except I couldn't give two shits. I wouldn't even make it to college, so what was the point?

The only thing I could look forward to was fourth period, which was English. Our teacher had left, and we were getting a new one. Some part of me prayed it would be someone who actually gave a fuck about kids at this school, but I couldn't set my standards too high. No one cares about the mentalities of high school students.

"Alright, class. So as you can see, I'm obviously not Mrs. Frazier. During midterms, she had her baby, so she's on maternity leave. I'm Mr. Wentz," He announced, pointing to his name written on the whiteboard, "and I'll be your long-term substitute teacher until the end of the year. I'm just going to take attendance, so raise your hand so I can put faces to names, that sound cool?" He didn't wait for our reply. "Okay, Abigail?"

As he began to rattle names off of the list, I couldn't help but notice how defined his jaw was, or how his jet black hair perfectly suited his olive skin tone. I wasn't the only one who noticed this, as nearly every girl would raise their arm as flirtatiously as they could when they were called on.

"And finally, Patrick?" I snapped out of my gaze when he called my name, and I barely raised my hand and mumbled  _here._ It was the most I had spoken all day. 

"Okay, well that settles that. I wasn't aware that I was teaching an eleventh-grade class today, so I have no lesson plans for today." He chuckled. "So this is basically a study hall-"

He was cut off by the girl next to me raising her hand. "Actually, Mr. Wentz, since you're going to be our teacher for the rest of the year, why don't you tell us about yourself?" She giggled, twirling a piece of her platinum blonde hair around her perfectly manicured finger. "Like, where are you from, why'd you come here?" She trailed off.

He shrugged. "Okay, well I'm from just outside Chicago. I move here because, uh-" he scratched the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders, like he didn't want to tell the full truth to the question "it's just where life took me, I guess."

"What made you want to be an English teacher?" Jasmine, one of the lead bitches of the school who  _loved_  to torment me, asked as she leaned across her desk, showing off her cleavage.

"Well, I always wanted to be a poet or be in a rock band, but neither of those worked out well." He chuckled. "I got a degree in English, and I just decided to share my love for this language with others."  _What a fucking load of bullshit._

"How old are you?"

"25." He said.

"Are you in a band?"

"What instrument do you play?"  

"Are you a virgin?"

The questions were thrown around the room, most of them asked by horny girls who thought that getting some with their hot new sub was a great idea. He seemed to answer every one of them with some sense of humor and wit, and he always completed an answer with a chuckle or a wink that made me go weak at the knees. If I weren't sitting down right now, I would have literally fallen for this guy.

"What about you, Patrick, is it?" Mr. Wentz said, walking over to my desk that was right in front of his. "You haven't said a word since the minute you walked in, you have any questions for me?"

I was taken off guard.  _Wait, was someone actually talking to me?_ I fiddled with my thumbs and glanced at them. "No, not really," I mumbled.

"What was that?" He asked, and a chorus of laughs could be heard from behind me.  _Great, they were all laughing at me. I can't even talk to a teacher without fucking up._

I just shrugged. "C'mon, there's gotta be something you want to know about me. Anything?" He continues to ask me, but I just stared blankly at my hands. "Fine." He stood up, facing the class. "Since Patrick here feels he doesn't have to participate in class, you guys all have to be quiet for the remainder of class. Use this as a study hall, do some work. I just don't want you guys to be too loud. Got it? Great."

He walked away and I felt every pair of eyes in the room staring into the back of my head.  _Great, it's my fault that we all have to do shit now. And now everyone hates me, even more than they already do. They can add this little thing on to the mountain of reasons as to why they absolutely despise me._

I leaned forward and placed my head in my folded arms on my desk, getting lost in my thoughts. I ignored the crumpled pieces of paper that would occasionally hit me in the back. They would all say the same thing, anyway. There was no point in reading the same thing over and over again when I knew it was already true. They'd all read something along the lines of _"way to fuck up, faggot. Again. Why don't you just kill yourself?"_

They were right. Why not? What could I possibly gain by existing on this earth any longer? If I were to kill myself, everyone would pretend to be sad for a little while. They might show up at my funeral, just to prove to my teachers that I was just oh so loved at school when in reality they were all happy deep down inside. They'd all be thrilled that I was gone, that they would no longer be at risk for whatever disease I had.

No one would care if I was gone. They'd all be thrilled. So why didn't I do something right in my life and just listen to them, and make them all happy? There was absolutely no purpose to my presence. I brought no one happiness. No one ever hears me speak more than five words, anyway. My suicide could be a big bold apology to the universe, an apology that I was such a fuck up and that I was sorry that I was even born.

"Alright, class, there are about two minutes left in class." Mr. Wentz's voice seemed to boom around the nearly silent classroom. I slowly picked my head up, making sure all evidence that I was crying was gone from my face. "I just want to go over some ground rules of my class before you leave. Just basically follow the rules that any teacher would impose. Do your work, behave, and don't sit on your phones in class. I'm pretty chill about rules and expectations for the most part, but I absolutely, will  _not_  tolerate any bullying of any kind. Not in my class, not in the halls, not in the lunchroom. Got it?" The class nodded as the bell rang. "Great. I hope you all enjoy your day!"

I slowly got to my feet and slung my bag over one shoulder, staring at my feet. "Patrick?" My head snapped towards the teacher. "Can I see you for a second?"

I walked the three steps over to his desk and waited patiently as he waited for the rest of the class to file out. He shut the door behind them and walked back over to me, sitting on his desk. "I'm sorry about what I did earlier in class. It was a dick move, I don't even know why I did-"

"It's fine, whatever." I was surprised at how loud my voice was.

"Are you sure? You didn't seem to be fine afterward. You haven't seemed to be fine since you walked in-"

"Look you don't know me, okay?" I snapped.

He sighed and stood up, taking a step closer to me. "Patrick, other teachers have told me about you. Many people at this school are concerned for your well-being-"

"Bullshit-"

"Patrick!" He raised his voice, and I took a step back, staring back down at my feet. Great, I had gone too far. I said too many things, talked too loud. I'll just shut my mouth like I always do and things will be alright. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell, but can you please let me finish?" His voice lowered to nearly a whisper.

I shrugged. "Patrick, look at me, please." I did, to see he was holding up at least four previously crumpled pieces of paper, ones that I had assumed people had thrown at me during class. "How long has this been going on?"

I didn't respond, just continued to look at my feet.

"Patrick, there are people here who can help you. Like you said, I don't know you very well, but I know people are concerned about you. My door is always open, okay? We can help you."

"I don't need help." I snapped.

"Patr-"

"Stop trying, like you said, you don't know me very well. This is who I am, deal with it."

"I-"

"You can't help me, you can't fix me. No one can."


	3. Fall To Your Knees

_"People try to say suicide is the most cowardly act a man could ever commit. I don't think that's true at all. What's cowardly is treating a man so badly that he wants to commit suicide." - Tommy Tran_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

"Hey, Fagtrick!" I knew that this was going to happen as soon as I stepped out of the door. I wanted to leave class as early as possible so that I wouldn't let them be able to corner me. But Mr. Fucking Wentz had to be a dick and then try to apologize for it, and this was all his goddamn fault.

"I'm talking to you!" Matt, the captain of the football team, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and slammed me into the locker, causing my hat to fall off. A stab of pain shot through my back as the dial dug into my spine. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

I looked into his cold, heartless eyes. His lips were moving, but I didn't hear a word that came out of them. I had heard the same thing every day.  _Kill yourself, homo. Freak. Fag. Gay. Fat. Monster. Infected. Queer. Obese. Trash. Unworthy._

I almost didn't feel the first punch. I didn't register that it had happened until my glasses had fallen off my head and were kicked to the other side of the hall. A delayed sense of pain spread through my cheekbone. He dropped my shirt, leaving me to collapse onto the cold floor.

Four other football players had now gathered around him. They each began to deliver blows to my stomach. Their laughter sounded underwater and miles away. The names they called me didn't register in my brain. The kicks that they repeatedly tried to injure me with did nothing but dull the pain even further. I've reached the point where I was incapable of feeling anymore. What was the point of living when you couldn't even feel the pain of existing?

**_*Pete's POV*_ **

_"You can't help me, you can't fix me. No one can."_

Patrick's words have been running through my mind since he left class five minutes ago. The entirety of the class, he was all I could think about.  _Why was I such a dick?_  I saw the look on his face when he walked into the room, it was the same one that I had worn throughout High School. I'd been watching him during the conversation I had with my class, but it looked like he didn't want to be in the classroom. It looked like he didn't want to be on this Earth.

I had only wanted to try to get the kid to talk. I wanted to know what voice the perfect lips of his would be able to produce. I wanted to hear his voice strong and clear, not weak and strangled like he appeared to be. I knew that Patrick was suffering inside.  He claimed that he didn't need help, and didn't want help, but deep down he wanted someone who cared. I wanted to be that person. I didn't want to see someone like him go through stuff as I did.

I know what the kid's been through. My friends had all left me in school, and people bullied me so badly that every time they did, they'd just dull the pain that I felt. I became more and more numb by the day, and I quickly reached the point where I didn't want to live anymore. No one helped me, my peers made it worse, my parents made it worse, even my teachers made it worse. And I was making it worse for Patrick.

I grabbed my hair as my head was in my hands. I let go and banged my fist on the desk.  _Stupid. You're fucking stupid, Pete._

I heard yelling coming from the hall. The loud noises were just making my head hurt even more, causing me to be more frustrated. I stormed into the hallway, where a group of students was huddled around something, kicking it. 

"Hey!" I banged my fist on the locker, causing the crowd of teenagers to jump. "Get where you're supposed to be before I call security."

The mass of five boys immediately ran around the corner, leaving one figure to be left alone, slumped against the locker, head in hands. His fedora laid next to him on the floor, his glasses flung across the hallway.

He was crumpled in a ball. He was broken, not wanting to move. 

I picked up Patrick's glasses and crouched down in front of him. "Hey." My voice was barely a whisper. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Go away." He mumbled.

I sighed. "Look at me." He didn't. I softly placed a finger under his chin and lifted it up so that he was looking me in the eyes. I ignored the faint shock that went through my finger and the butterflies that swarmed through my chest as I stared into his baby blue eyes. I placed his glasses on his face. My fingers brushed over his cheek, and he winced. There was obviously a bruise that was beginning to form under his left eye.

He was blinking back tears. "W-what do you wa-"

"Shh." I grabbed his fedora and placed it on his head. "Walk with me, I'll take you to the nurse. You should get some ice on that." He didn't stand up when I did, so I helped him onto his feet.

"Stop trying to help me. I'm not worth-"

"Yes, yes you are." I cut him off, and turned around to see that he wasn't following me down the hall, so I walked back towards him and grabbed his hand. "You are so, totally, absolutely worth it-"

"You don't fucking know me." He ripped his hand away from mine. "Stop-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Patrick. I know that you don't want me to help, I get it. But I'm getting you a damn ice pack. You can either come with me or wait in my room." He rolled his eyes, shoved his hand in his pockets, and began walking down the hall with me. We walked in complete silence even though he was muttering things under his breath.

"I'm not walking in there." The confidence in his voice shocked me.

"What?"

"I'm not going in there. She'll ask who did this to me and I'll have to go through all this crap when all I want is a damn ice pack."

I sighed. "Fine, I'll go in there for you. Just wait outside here. Don't leave." I opened the handle of the nurse's office and did a double take to make sure he wasn't running away.

"Who are you?"

I turned around to see an overly energetic old lady. She seemed like one of those cute old people who got excited over every little thing.

"Hey, I'm Mr. Wentz. I'm the English teacher filling in for Mrs. Frazier."

Her face lit up. "Oh, I've heard great things about you already! It's so glad to finally meet you! What can I help you with?"

"Oh, uh-" I tried to come up with an excuse. "I was playing soccer with a few friends over the weekend and got kicked in the shin. It's just starting to hurt a bit again so I was wondering if I can just get an ice pack?"

"Oh of course!" She beamed as she got a Ziploc bag full of ice out of the freezer, wrapping it in a paper towel. "Here you go, dear. Have a nice day!"

"You too," I said, limping out of the office for an added effect. Patrick was thankfully still outside the door.

I gently pressed the ice to his cheek and his face showed signs of relief. "Just hold this here. Do you have a class or lunch right now?"

"Lunch, but I don't like eating in the cafeteria. They've also probably closed to doors to the kitchen by now, so I don't have food." He was finally talking in full sentences to me.

"You can always eat in my room."

"No way-"

I used my teacher voice on him. "It's totally fine. I have some extra food for lunch, so you can take mine. You don't have to say or do anything."

He rolled his eyes and walked past me. "Whatever."

We continued through silence. We walked back to the room in silence. I gave him most of my lunch in. We ate in silence.

Just as the bell was about to ring, I spoke again. "Patrick?"

He looked up at me.

"You do know that you're not alone in this, alright? I know you feel that no one cares and that no one notices, but I promise you that's not true. It's going to get better. Just because things are this bad now doesn't mean that they'll never be okay. You are worth it. And no, I'm not just saying this, and yes, I don't fully know you, but I  _do_  care, alright? My door is always open. You can come anytime you want."

The bell rang and he ran out of the room, not saying a word. I sighed and placed my head on my desk.

"Rough first half of the day?" One of the history teachers, Mr. Carver, said as he walked into my room.

"Not as bad as I'd expect." I shrugged. "I just have a concern for one of my students. Granted, I just met him, but I'm still worried."

"Patrick Stump?" He asked, and I nodded in reply. "I've noticed it as well. Not many other teachers have, but some are concerned."

"Do you know why he's like this? I mean, he seems like he was once such a happy kid."

He sighed. "Some of the kids who go here aren't the most accepting people. He came out as gay at the beginning of the school year, and nearly everyone turned against him."

My stomach turned over when he said that.  _So I have a chance._ "Has anyone done anything about it?"  _Wait, what the_ fuck  _Pete, he's your goddamn student._

"Unfortunately, no. I've tried talking to him, but he just won't open up to anyone. I don't have any actual proof of bullying, so I can't report anything, but I know that it's going on."

"Wait," I grabbed the four crumpled pieces of paper off my desk. "Some other students threw these at him during my class. After class, there was also a group of students huddled around him, but I didn't recognize any of them. I assumed they beat him up, as he was on the ground with a bruise on his face and his hat and glasses knocked off."

His eyes skimmed across the pages as he read the notes. "Shit." He said. "Holy  _shit._ This is worse than I imagined. We have to do something about this."

I nodded my head. "I'm trying to get him to talk to me. he ate lunch in my room after I found him in the hall, but he wouldn't talk to me. And I will definitely be trying to catch whoever is doing this to him."

After a brief goodbye, he left the room, leaving me with my thoughts. How could someone do this to another human being? He liked men, so what? I wanted to track down whoever was hurting him this way and rip them to shreds.

I didn't know why I felt so protective over Patrick, I just knew that I had to help fix him.


	4. It Twists My Head Just a Bit to Think

_"The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth." - Jean Cocteau_

_~-~-~-~-_ _~-~-~-~-_ _~-~-~-~-~_

**_*Patrick's POV*_ **

It's been two weeks since Mr. Wentz has started teaching. Nothing has changed. I'm still the scum of the school, no, the scum of the Earth. I'm still treated like shit. I still dart from class to class to avoid running into anyone in the hallway. I still don't want to be here anymore. 

Mr. Wentz is still trying to reach out to me. Ever since I've eaten lunch in his room, he's been treating me like his best friend. He's trying to do everything he can in order to talk to me. Meanwhile, I've been doing everything I can to avoid him. Why would I let myself get attached to anyone when they'd just leave me anyways? It's what's happened to every person I've ever cared about, so I've just stopped getting close to people. Besides, he's my teacher. It's not like he really cares, right? It's basically his job description to pretend to care about all the brats he has to put up with daily. 

But this is only out of class. Whenever I'm in class, he treats me like any other teacher treats me, like he treats every other student. I wish it would stay this way. I like being invisible, I like being another face in the crowd. I'm not saying I love to conform to the rest of the idiot population, but I love not standing out and being able to hide.

But the second the bell rings, he'll ask me to stay behind. He tries to catch me in the halls or before class. Usually, I'm able to slip away from him, but other times I'm not so lucky. he tries to corner me and get me to "open up about my issues." 

At the same time, I'm incredibly drawn to him. I want nothing and everything to do with him. I never want to see him. I always want to look at him. I mean, who wouldn't? He's better looking than any of the students who go here. I want to avoid him at all costs, but I always want to be with him. I want to open up to him and cry my heart out and spill my guts, but I remain quiet and don't say a word to him. Everything about him confuses me. He twists my head around whenever I think of him. I'm incredibly conflicted. 

I've got about 99 problems, and he's one of my biggest.

\-----

"Alright class, settle down, I've got some fun things planned!" Mr. Wentz clapped his hands together in excitement after the bell rang.  _This man likes his job too much. What could possibly be fun about English?_

The rest of the class seemed to agree with my inner monologue, as they all groaned. "Oh please, it's not that bad. It's going to be basically impossible to  _not_  get an A for this."

Everyone seemed to pay attention a little more closely. It seemed like everyone but me was dying to get an A in any class in any way possible.

"So," he began, "for the next month and the remainder of the marking period, we're going to start our poetry unit. I'm not going to make you analyze other authors' works or read or any of that bullshit. I want you guys to take this opportunity to be able to express yourselves. I know a lot of you a very stressed or down this time of year," he seemed to look straight at me as he said this. O _h, just leave me the fuck alone._ "So this will be a great way to be able to get things off of your chest.

"That being said, every poem you submit will be anonymous. Everything will be marked as a completion grade, so again, this will be an easy chance for some of you to bring your grades up for this quarter. The only requirement for each of these poems is that they must be at least 12 lines long. You can make 3 stanzas with 4 lines, 4 stanzas with 3 lines each, or just one big ass stanza. Remember, this is your poem, it's your way of expressing your thoughts and emotions. You can write it similar to a song if you'd like too. You will have to submit a poem every Tuesday and Friday. Now the fun part of this is that you will all randomly pick a number. I'm doing this project with all of my 67 students, so you will each pick a number from 1 to 67. You'll pick this number from a hat when you leave class today. Instead of writing your name on each paper, you will write  _student number whatever._ This way I can track your progress through your poems. Throughout the month, I will try to guess your number. Does all of this make sense?"

Everyone nodded, and the girl next to me raised her hand. "But if they're anonymous, how will you mark it as a completion grade? You'll see our number when we hand it in."

He nodded. "I will be grading you all through your numbers, if that makes sense. You'll have submitted ten poems throughout the month, and I'll check off that student 57 has submitted all of these ten poems that have at least twelve lines. Each assignment is worth twenty completion points, for a total of 200 easily attainable points that will bump up your grade. At the very end, I will also be grading you on a scale of 100 points for the quality of your work. So please don't just submit shitty work, please try. Once I guess your number correctly, I'll put your points into your grade online."

The girl next to me raised her hand again. "So they're anonymous, but not completely anonymous? Like, as we submit them throughout the month, you won't know who wrote each poem. But eventually, you'll figure out who we are?"

He nodded. "Yeah. But the point of this anonymity is so that you're not afraid to say what you truly want to say. Eventually, yes, I'll figure it out, but don't let that scare you. Yeah?"

Most of us nodded. "Lit."  _Only Mr. Wentz would say lit, the fucking nerd._ "Take out your notebooks while I lecture you on literary techniques in poetry and different styles of poetry. You don't have to necessarily use these in your writing, but it would be a good idea to, especially if you don't know where to start. Half of you won't be listening anyway, but just try not to look like you'd rather die than write poetry? They're doing teacher evaluations and might come in this period, so try to look like you're paying attention. Thanks."

Believe it or not, I was actually somewhat excited to do this project. Maybe I actually wouldn't fail a class for once. I wrote songs occasionally, and he said we could write them as a song, right? And maybe it would be good to get things off my chest. I zoned out of his lecture as the possibilities of different lines flooded my head. 

The second he finished as said we could get writing, the words seemed to flow onto my paper. The words seemed to bleed continuously and endlessly from my pen into my notebook.  _From Now On We Are Enemies._ I don't know why the title fit, but it just did.

 _I just want to be better than your_  
Your head's only medicine

 _A downward spiral just a pirouette_  
Getting worse 'til there's nothing left  
What good comes of something  
When I'm just the ghost of nothing?

 _And I'm just the man on the balcony_  
Singing nobody will ever remember me  
Rejoice, rejoice and fall to your knees

 _Lunatic of a God or a God of a lunatic_  
Oh, their faces are dancing  
They're dancing 'til, 'til they can't stand it

 _A composer but never composed_  
Singing the symphonies of the overdosed  
A composer but never composed

_Singing I only want what I can't have_

_Heralded as a king before I had a birthday_  
With double digits  
Fit the crown to my head but I was only a kid  
Yeah, I was only a kid

 _Hey, I'm just the man on the balcony_  
Singing nobody will ever remember me  
Rejoice, rejoice and fall to your knees

 _Oh, lunatic of a God or a God of a lunatic_  
Oh, their faces are dancing  
They're dancing 'til, 'til they can't stand it

 _A composer but never composed_  
Singing the symphonies of the overdosed  
A composer but never composed

 _Singing I only want what I can't have_  
I only want what I can't have

 

 _I'm just the man on the balcony_  
Singing nobody will ever remember me

_Singing the symphonies of the overdosed_

_Singing I only want what I can't have_

**_*Pete's POV*_ **

I couldn't take my eyes off of Patrick. 

When I was teaching the good five students who were paying attention, he was in a dream-like state. He often was in my class, but every time he looked like he wanted to cry and hide from the world. This time, it was different. There was a little bit of life that shone from his eyes that he hid from everyone. I smirked at the thought that maybe I had something to do with it. When I said for everyone to begin writing, everyone just stared blankly at their notebook. A couple kids wrote something down every now and then, but Patrick was furiously scribbling away at his paper.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't more than eager to read his poems. There were a handful of students whose poems I was interested in, but he was definitely at the top of my list. I watched as furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, occasionally pushing his glasses back up his nose because they were falling, due to the fact he was so hunched over his paper. His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth whenever he paused to think about what to write next.

And he was absolutely adorable. 

I was even sad when the bell rang and he left. I wanted to do nothing more than call his name and tell him to stay after the bell, but I had no reason to do so. he looked absolutely miserable every class period and I kept trying to get him to open up about it I knew he wasn't okay, and I knew that other students weren't very fond of him. But every time I would try to talk to him, he would completely shut me out like I wasn't worth a single thought. I didn't matter to him at all.

And it was killing me.

My world has seemed to turn upside down since I first saw him. I try my best, but it twists my head just to even think about him. I liked him more than I should. I was his  _teacher,_  for crying out loud. But I've grown attached to him. he's going through something similar I did in high school, and I couldn't help but empathize with him and feel the smallest bit protective. 

"Wentz?" There was a knock at the door and I turned my head to greet Carver.

"Hey, come in! What's up?"

He walked over to a desk in front of mine and sat on it. "I've been thinking, and I think I found a way to be able to help not only just Patrick but other kids like him"

I sighed. "I've tried everything I can to try to get him to talk to me-"

"It doesn't involve either of us talking to him. Directly, anyways." He stated.

I tilted my head to the side and pursed my lips, thinking. "How?"

"I think we should start a mental health club." He said. "You know, like an awareness thing. Maybe it doesn't just have to be based on mental health, but that should be a main aspect of it. I feel like enough kids will join it. They can have awareness campaigns, and I think we could start to make this school more of a tolerable place. We could promote random acts of kindness, maybe do an LGTB+ pride thing or two, you know what I mean?"

I paused. "Yeah, I think that'd be a great idea. I think a friend of mine started something like that in high school. They did mental health awareness things around school, did a few pride things, domestic violence awareness stuff too, I think."

"We'd just need ten or so students on board with this, and approval from the principle, and we can start as soon as possible. What do you say?"

"This sounds awesome." We spent the rest of the free period we shared together planning the club. Even if Patrick didn't join, which I prayed he did, it might be able to make a difference in how others treated. Maybe others would be more tolerant of his sexuality. And it wouldn't just benefit him, it would benefit countless other kids who were stressed and depressed.

God, I cared for this teenager way too much for it to be healthy. 


	5. I'll Be Yours

_"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out." -Walter Winchell_

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

**_*Pete's POV*_ **

It's been two weeks since I introduced all of my classes to the poetry unit, and everyone  _should_  have submitted three poems by now. There were a handful of students who hadn't done so, which just hurt their grade and helped me identify them. I was able to figure out who a good three people were prior to today, which was a huge dent in the pile of poems submitted by 67 students.

I laid back on my bed and picked up the next student's papers.  _Student 23._ I put ten points into the spreadsheet under their name for completing the assignment. I read the poem titled  _Someday You'll Miss Me Like I Miss You._  It was a very moving and powerful poem, obviously written by someone going through a breakup, and was very similar to the other two poems they submitted.

I changed  _Student 23_  to  _Sarah Lapinski._ She went through a rough breakup with her boyfriend recently. Yes, I, Peter Wentz, was the king of gossip. I somehow manage to figure out every ounce of the personal lives of not only my students, but of almost any student in the school. Sarah's boyfriend cheated on her with her best friend, who sent her pictures of them together. Nasty little creatures, high schoolers were. I was glad those days were behind me. I felt really bad for Sarah, she was an extremely sweet girl. She showed up to the first meeting of the mental health club and seemed to be a strong proponent for what we were advocating. She was also a phenomenal writer, and it showed up in her writing.

I grabbed the next folder in the pile,  _student 57_. I gave them credit in the excel document for their poem  _I've Got A Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth._ I chuckled at the title. The student seemed to love choosing random titles, with the other ones being  _Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes_  and  _From Now On We Are Enemies._

However, my demeanor turned more serious as I began to read it.  _Holy crap_ was all I could think of when I read it. This was obviously was written by someone who appeared to be happy- or was trying to, but was falling apart inside. It was hinted at in their first poem, explored a bit more in the one before, and blatantly obvious in this one.  _We're the kids who feel like dead ends. The poets are just kids who didn't make it. Force our smiles, baby, half dead._

I was almost scared to put a name to this student. The biggest reason was that I would have to reveal to the student that I figured out who they were, and then they might feel embarrassed and not want to write what they truly feel, which was the point of this whole project. I never wanted to stop reading what they wrote. Their words always left me speechless and mesmerized. You could even say I had fallen in love with their writing style after only three poems, and I was beginning to fall in love with the speaker. It was almost nostalgic, what they wrote about reminded me of how exactly I felt during my high school career. Every word seemed to have a deeper meaning and a meaning beyond that. This kid's writing was like a drug, and I was addicted.

I tossed their folder to the side and moved on.

\---------------

"Alright, class!" I yelled. There were about five minutes left in the class, and everyone was growing more and more restless. It seemed that giving them class time to work on their individual projects made them even less productive. "I feel like I've identified three students in this class. So listen up! You know how this works, I'll call a number and then a name. If I call your name, just tell me yes or no. Alright, 42, Destiny?"

She nodded her head yes, sighing in a defeated manner. I crossed her name off the board behind me, writing a  _42_  next to her name. I had four lists on the whiteboard of each class. After I revealed a student's works, I crossed off their name and wrote their number. I've only identified about ten students so far, but it was progress.

"29, Jake?"

"Mother fucker, how'd you guess?" He yelled, his voice dripping with venom.

I sighed. "Two things. Firstly, do  _not_  talk to me like that. I am your teacher, show some respect. And secondly, you haven't submitted a single assignment for this project, and seeing as your percentage for the year is  _seven,_ it wasn't that hard to figure it out."

I made it a point to dramatically cross off his name and write his number. He yelled more profanities as his friends laughed around him. "Shut it!" I yelled. "I've been  _so_  close to kicking you out of my class for numerous reasons this year, and I've been your teacher for hardly a month. Please do not make me do so in the last minute of class. Anyways, 25, Peter?"

"Nope!" He popped.

I sighed. "To be honest, that was a random guess. I wanted to see if I was a psychic." The bell rang, and everyone seemed to run out the door. I sighed, dropping my papers at my desk.

"Uh, Mr. Wentz?" I heard a voice at the door. My head snapped in the direction it came from. For a split second, I thought that Patrick had stayed behind, and my heart seemed to skip a beat. But I realized it was a feminine voice, and it belonged to Sarah.

"Hey, come in! How are things?" I said, trying not to let the disappointment show in my voice.

She sighed. "Alright, I guess. I just wanted to ask when the next meeting was for the club? I forgot."

I nodded. "Tuesday. Every week will be the same. Same time, same place. Can you come?"

She smiled. "Right. Yes, I can. Thanks, have a nice day!"

"You too," I muttered, but she was already gone. I got up from my desk and wandered through the halls. I tried to open the door of the faculty bathroom, but it was locked. I sighed and went into the regular student's bathroom. When I turned off the faucet, I swore I heard crying.

"Hello?" I whispered, and the crying immediately stopped. "I know someone's in here. Don't pretend."

No one answered, and I sighed, giving up. I turned to walk away out of the room, but I heard a door creak open and a sob escaped from someone's lips. I nearly sprinted to the door frame of the stall and my heart broke when I saw who was inside.  _Patrick._

"Oh my God, it's okay, c'mere." I helped him up and engulfed him in a hug, trying to ignore the butterflies that erupted in my stomach, not wanting to let go.

"I'm sorry." He choked, and I pulled away.

"Hey, what are you sorry for?" I asked, and he remained silent. "It's okay. Why don't you grab your things and come to my room- are you eating lunch in here?"

He nodded, biting his lips to keep himself from crying out loud, and I could feel my heart panging for the poor kid.

"Why?" He said nothing, and I sighed. "C'mon, you can eat lunch in my room." He nodded and grabbed his things. I put my hand on the back of his shoulder, letting it stay there as I guided him through the halls, not letting it fall until we reached my room.

"Here, have a seat." I pulled up a chair to my desk so that we would be able to sit in close proximity. We sat down and began eating our lunch in complete silence. I never took my eye off of Patrick, I always glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He didn't actually eat anything, he just kind of stared at his food and pushed it around his tray with a plastic fork. It wasn't soon before he dropped his fork and the tears came falling from his eyes again.

I immediately dropped my food and grabbed him in another hug. "It's okay, it's okay. Just let it all out, it's okay." I whispered as I stroked his hair softly. He clutched my t-shirt, crying into my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm such as absolute mess. I'm sorry for making you feel obliged to put up with me-"

"Hey." I pulled away from him and grabbed his shoulders, staring him directly in the eye, once again ignoring the way my stomach dropped. "I do not feel  _obliged_  to put up with you. I  _want_  to  _help_  you. I'm very concerned about you Patrick. If the past three weeks of me chasing you around hasn't shown you, I don't know what will."

_What if I kissed you?_

I immediately shook the thought out of my head, hoping that he didn't notice to color that rose to my cheeks. I don't know why the thought came into my mind, I just wanted to help the kid and not watch someone go through what I did in all of middle and high school.

"Sorry, I just-" He took a deep breath, calming himself down. He wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his cardigan before continuing. "I just really don't have any friends or anyone who cares for me, I don't know what it's like. I'm not used to people reaching out for me, and I don't like change, So I've been avoiding you the past few weeks. I've been dreaming of someone to notice something was wrong and to say something to me for so long that when someone actually did it, I got scared and ran away. I-I'm sorry Mr. Wentz." His voice faded throughout the whole thing and was barely more than a whisper by the time he finished.

"Patrick," I said, and his head snapped up at the sternness in my voice. "Would you quit apologizing all the time?"

"Sorry, wait sorry about that- sorry, I'll just, sorry." He pulled his sleeves over his hands as if he were shrinking into his sweater.

I chuckled. "It's fine Patrick. Now eat your food before you starve."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Mom."

"Patrick Martin Vaughn Stump." I scolded. "What did I tell you about apologizing?"

"To not to." He mumbled.

I put my hands on my hips and nodded. "Good. Now eat your vegetables."

He laughed. Patrick Stump, the kid who had no friends and went around looking like he wanted to die, actually laughed. He did this cross between a chuckle and a school girl's giggle, and it was by far the most beautiful thing that I've ever heard. And I swear to God, I probably could've came right then and there.

I watched him intensely as he ate. It sounded like something stalkerish, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. He was the most beautiful person I've ever met, guy or girl. So what if he was 16, almost 17? Couldn't I dream?

"Take a picture, it might last longer." He mumbled after catching on to the fact that I was staring.

I was caught off guard and bit my lip. "S-sorry."

"So you're allowed to apologize, and I'm not?" He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms as he leaned back into his seat.

"You should talk more." I blurted.

He seemed taken aback by what I said. "Um, I should, what?"

I scratched the back of my head. "Your voice, it's nice. I don't get to hear it that much."

He smirked. "Maybe you should have to work for it."

I widened my eyes. "Oh dear God, please don't tell me you're going to go all silent on me now for the rest of lunch." He only raised his eyebrows again. "Please don't torture me like that."

"Torture?" He questioned. "Seems like someone fancies me a little."

"Seems like someone's enjoying it." I winked.

He smirked. "Well, yeah. It's not every day your hot English teacher flirts with you."

"Uh, I'm not, what- Wait, did you call me hot?" I laughed nervously to hide the panic in my voice.

"What? No. You're imagining things, Mr. Wentz. You probably just want me to call you hot so badly that you actually thought that's what I said."

"Pete." I breathed. "When we're eating lunch or just not in class, call me Pete."

He smirked again. But this time, instead of a seductive, questioning smirk like the ones he had been throwing around all through lunch, but it was more of a blushing smile. "Okay, Pete."

The bell rang and he scrambled to get his stuff together. Meanwhile, I grabbed a post-it note and scribbled on it. "Wait, here." He was just about to leave before I gave it to him. "It's my number. I'm not really supposed to give it to you, so, uh, don't tell anyone. Just- if you ever need me, you know how to get me."

He nodded and blushed. "Uh, thanks."

He turned around and was about to leave before I called out to him again. "And Patrick?"

"Yeah?"

I breathed. "You know you're not alone, right? You're never alone."

He smiled. "Thanks, Pete."


	6. I Always Fall From Your Window

 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

_That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt. - John Green, The Fault in Our Stars_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ _  
_

**_*Patrick's POV*_ **

I couldn't help but keep Monday's events out of my mind. It was kind of distracting, and occasionally make me feel even worse. I knew that he was only trying to reach out to me and that he genuinely cared. But the way that he subtly  _flirted_  with me? What if he  _was_  gay, like me? He's kind of like the class clown, which is odd because he's the teacher. While he jokes around a lot with the class, he never acted like the way he did with me in front of some of the girls in the class. What if he was just trying to get in my pants?

But at the same time, Monday's events fueled me through the week. It was now Friday, and this was by far the best week I've had of the school year. The fact that he might be gay, that anyone who was ever anyone was gay, made me feel a little bit better about my sexuality. There was a glimmer of hope that he might actually be interested in me. Pete, a hot guy, was interested in me, the scum of the Earth.

And I felt great.

"Back so soon, Stump?" he asked as I dropped my lunch on his desk.

I sighed. "I literally never left the room."

He laughed. "It was a joke."

I looked around, about to pull up the chair I'd been using all week, but I couldn't find it. "Where's my chair?" I asked, and he shrugged. I sighed, annoyed. "Where am I going to sit?"

"On my lap." He winked, patting his leg.

I rolled my eyes and sat on his desk, instead. "You wish."

He gasped and placed a hand on his chest in mock pain. "Your sass." He said. "I don't need it."

"Take away the first 's' and you do." I winked, taking a bite of my sandwich.

He laughed. I grinned at his grin. He was one of those people whose laughs were almost contagious. You couldn't look at them when they were happy and not feel the same way yourself. Not to mention the fact that he also looked  _great_  when he did so. "You have a great ass."

"Watch your mouth," I said, "that could be sexual harassment. You're really immature for a twenty-whatever your age is year old."

He stood up, his voice turning more serious. "First of all, I'm only 25."  _That's an eight and a half year age difference. That's really bad, Patrick._ "And secondly, you know I'm only messing around."

I shrugged. "Yeah, but imagine if someone walked in the door and heard you say that. What would they think?"

"I don't give a damn what they think." He took a step forward so that his legs were nearly touching mine, and his face was inches away. "Tell me,  _Stump_ , do I intimidate you?"

"Not a chance,  _Wentz._ " I spat as I shoved him away from me.  _How sexy would it be if I grabbed his tie and pulled him back in before sucking off his face?_

"Good, because I'm your friend." He sat down, pleased with his answer. "Now, you never told me what happened Monday."

"What happened Monday?" I asked, innocently.

"Don't play dumb with me." He said. "Why were you eating lunch alone and crying?" His voice turned sympathetic and he grabbed my hand.

I looked down at the ground in front of my feet, ignoring him.

"Look, I just want to know what's wrong so that I would be able to help you."

"No, you really don't." I spat back.

"Patrick-"

"No!" I cut him off. "It-it's just stupid, okay! You don't need to know what's wrong."

He sighed. "But I want to help-"

"But you are." The venom in my voice seemed to disappear. "Just letting me eat in your room is helping. You don't need to go out of your way just to help me. You've done so by being my friend, and that's all I'm asking for."

He seemed taken back by what I said, but he still smiled. "I'm- your wha-, you consider me your  _friend?_ "

I fiddled with my thumbs, staring at them as I blushed. "Yeah, I do."  _But I want to be more. Wait, what the_ fuck.

He got up from his chair and sat on his desk next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Well, I think of you as a friend, too."

My mouth opened as my jaw seemed to drop. I stared at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really."

He randomly laughed and shook his head. "What?"

He smiled. It, it's nothing. I just thought of something stupid."

I scoffed. "It's probably not stupid. Tell me."

He sighed. "Fine. Have you ever read  _The Fault In Our Stars_?"

"Who do you think I am, a teenage girl-"

"Answer the question, Stump." He interrupted.

"Yeah." I blushed.

He laughed again. "I was going to say  _'Maybe really can be our always.'"_

"Really?"

"Really."

I laughed. "You're a fucking dork, you know that?"

He smirked. "Really?"

"Shut up, you fucker." I pushed his chest away from me, and he pretended to fall over. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the bell ringing. I threw my stuff into my bag.

"Well, have a nice weekend Pete," I said.

"Wait, Patrick?" He called after me, and I turned around.

"Yeah?"

"I really think you should consider joining the club I started."

 _More time to spend with him? Sign me the fuck up._ "I'll think about it," I said without hesitation.

"Really?" He smiled.

"Really." I rolled my eyes. "Bye Pete."

\-------------------------------

I gripped my hair, nearly pulling it out of its roots as I curled into a ball on the cold tile floor that was wet with tears. My body seemed to rattle with every sob that escaped my lips. I clutched my sides, curling into myself even tighter. Nothing could stop the voices in my head. The echo of my cries and the pounding of my heart did nothing to silence them. 

_You're better off dead._

_Why do you have to be such a freak?_

_No one would show up to your funeral. Not your mother, brother, anyone. Not even Pete._

_You have no friends, no family. No one to miss you._

_No one cares._

_You're just thinking this to make yourself cry. You're doing this to yourself. How pathetic. How weak._

I stopped trying to stop the voices long ago. Crying did nothing. Screaming did nothing. Nothing did anything. I stopped trying to prove the voices wrong, as they were always right. I let them in. I let them scream inside my head. I let them bounce around my brain, tearing it apart from the inside.

The fact that I couldn't do anything to make it stop made it even worse. I'd tried so many times to silence them, but  _nothing_  would work.

I did the only thing I could think of.

I called Pete.

"Hey, Stump!" He yelled into the phone, dragging out his words. "I was wondering when you were gonna call. What's up, man?"

I could hardly breathe. It took all of my willpower to say his name. "P-Pete."

I could almost picture him as if he were in front of me, dropping whatever he was doing and hopping up onto his feet when he heard the pain in my voice. "Are you okay? What's wrong."

"I-I, I need h-help." I cried. "Please."

"Hey, it's okay." His voice made my heart pound even faster yet calmed it down at the same time. "Just breathe, okay? That's all I want you to do right now. Can you do that for me? In and out. You've got this."

I nodded even though he couldn't see me.

"Do you want me to come over-"

"Please." I pleaded. "I-I need someone. I need  _you_."

"I'm already in my car. Are you home alone? What's your address? Will you be okay until I get there, should I stay on the line? Where are you in your house-"

"Shut up," I croaked, my throat raw and sore. "I'm alone in t-the bathroom, it's 742 Evergreen Terrace-"

"I'll be there in five minutes. Will you be okay-" I hung up the phone, cutting him off. I threw the phone across the tile floor, letting it slide before it smashed against the bathtub.

I had kept myself together for barely a minute while on the phone with Pete, but as soon as he was gone, I fell apart again. Each cry left me gasping for air, trying to hold on to something. I began hyperventilating with every breath. They weren't even breaths at this point, they were gasps and wheezes that did nothing to calm me down. The lack of oxygen was causing my vision to go black at the edges. I squeezed my eyes shut, scared to see myself go blind.

My entire body was numb. I had been digging my nails into the sides of my stomach for so long with all my force, yet I felt nothing but the blood trickle down my sides. 

I almost didn't hear the pounding at the door. "Patrick!"

I couldn't move. I couldn't get up. I tried to pull myself up the tile floor but to no avail. I collapsed back onto the ground as the pounding at the door continued to grow louder, mimicking the pounding of my heart that I could still feel in my ears.

Still trembling, I grabbed the sides of the sink and hoisted myself up, putting all of my weight on the ceramic countertop. I slowly stumbled my way to the door, bearing my weight onto whatever I could grab hold of, including the door. When it opened, I collapsed into Pete's arms, sobbing all over again.

He caught me just in time, wrapping his muscular arms around my body, supporting me. "Patrick, oh my God," was all he could say. He continued to repeat this over and over again, stroking my hair. 

Eventually, he said something else. "C'mon, let's get you to the couch, okay?" I did nothing but nod my head against his chest, where his t-shirt was soaked with my tears. He struggled to bring me into the living room, as I was more of a limp rag doll than a living, walking, breathing human.

He gently set me down on the couch, causing my shirt to ride up, revealing the crescent-shaped wounds I had inflicted upon myself.

He gasped. "I'm going to get something to clean you up. I'll be right back." He stood up, but I grabbed his wrist before he could walk away.

"No." I croaked. "P-please don't leave me." 

He sighed, looking the state I was in. I was currently somewhat stable, the tears falling down my face were now silent, and my body wasn't trembling with every gasp for air. But the two of us both knew that the second he walked away, I would go back to the state I was in before. 

"Fine." He sat down next t me on the couch, and I immediately latched onto him like a small child. His arms wrapped around me again, and the two of sat there for what seemed like forever, both glad that the other was there, albeit for different reasons. 

Eventually, I pulled away, my face dry but still red and puffy. "You okay now?' He asked.

I shook my head. "Not really. But, stable."

He nodded, stroking my hair again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head again, as he continued to play with my hair. "Does my hair fascinate you?" My throat was still raw, and I could hardly talk above a whisper.

"It's really soft." He said.

"Really?"

"Really." He gave me a soft smile. "So, do you want to do anything?"

I shrugged. "I kind of feel like wallowing around in self-pity for days on end without seeing or talking to anyone, but I don't think that's the answer you're looking for."

He bit his lip and frowned. "I really wish you didn't think of yourself so negatively." 

"Everyone else does, so why shouldn't I?" I looked up at him, my eyes beginning to water again. 

He shook his head. "Not everyone hates you, Patrick." He whispered. "There's only a select few who are scared of you because you're different. They're just ignorant. And the rest of the school is only afraid of what those people will do to them if they speak out. The world isn't out to get you. I promise there are people who genuinely care about you."

I  _wanted_  to believe him, but part of me just couldn't. "Like who?"

"Me." He said.

"You're entitled to. You have to care about me, you're my teacher." The words were falling from my lips before I could even think about saying them.

There was a small glimpse of hurt in his eyes. "Has the past week meant nothing to you? I'm not just your teacher, I'm your friend." 

I didn't say anything for a minute as I stared at my hands. Eventually, I mumbled, "no one would show up to my funeral."

He immediately grabbed me in his arms again. "Please don't think like that." He-  _cried?_ Was he actually crying? "Please, please. I know you can't help it, but  _please._ " He pleaded.

"I-I'm sorry," I said, and he pulled away. "Can we watch a movie or something? To get m mind off things."

He nodded. "Sure." 

I gestured to the pile of DVDs sitting next to the TV. "I don't have Netflix, so that's about it."

He browsed through them for a minute before taking  _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._ "This is my favorite one." He said, putting it in the DVD player as I turned on the TV.

"Mine too," I smiled as he sat down next to me.

"Are your parents going to be home anytime soon?" He asked.

"Nope," I said. "Mom's on a business trip for a few days. Why, what were you thinking of doing?" I raised an eyebrow.

He blushed and muttered "Not like that. I just didn't know if they'd be okay with you hanging out with your teacher."

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess not." He put his arm around me and I curled into his side.

It wasn't long before I fell asleep in his arms. 


	7. The Crooked Smiles Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning, more in the second half of the chapter.

 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

 

_It’s gonna get better, it’s gonna work out, Give it a minute, it’s gonna turn around_

_‘Cause it’s gonna get better, So just coast with me_

_-Coast (It's Gonna Get Better), Patrick Stump_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ _  
_

Our feet were tangled together, our faces just inches apart. I was curled into him, and he had his arms lazy draped around me. A blanket was on top of us, he must've grabbed it from the back of the couch before he fell asleep.

Our bodies seemed to fit perfectly together. It was like we were made for each other like my small frame was meant to fit with his large muscular one. In his arms, I felt safe. Protected. I felt like nothing could get to me, including myself.

I found myself staring at his face. He looked a lot younger when he was asleep. His concerned expression wasn't plastered on like it usually was around me. I almost didn't even see his eyes open.

"Morning." He mumbled, his voice low and raspy, sending butterflies through my stomach. He looked down at our position and blushed before chuckling. "You know, some of the girls in your class would actually kill to be you right now."

"Please." I rolled my eyes, scoffing. "It makes me want to throw up when they blatantly flirt in front of everyone like that."

"Yeah. At least we keep it on the down low." I immediately bit my lip and averted my eyes away from his.  _Did I really flirt with Pete that much?_ I mean, I couldn't help myself, he was incredibly gorgeous. I couldn't help but notice the flips that my stomach did when I looked back up at his eyes.

"Yeah." I chuckled. I untangled my feet from his and the two of us sat up. "Do you want breakfast or something? I can't really cook and all we have is cereal but-"

"That would be great." He smiled. We made our way to the kitchen, grabbing bowls and filling them up. "So," He said between bites, "this is a lovely home you've got here."

"Shut up." I felt like I was rolling my eyes way too often around here. "You don't need to make things awkward with small talk. It's not like we slept together or anything."

"But we did sleep next to each other." He pointed out.

"That's not the same thing." I sighed.

He smiled cheekily. "Oh, but you wish it were."

I facepalmed myself. "You do know that's illegal, right?"

He shrugged. "There's got to be a loophole somewhere." I didn't respond, agrressivle blushing, trying to avoid the conversation topic. I mean, having sex with him would be  _great_ , but it's totally illegal and completely wrong.

He looked at his watch. "Uh, I should probably get going. It's almost 2pm."

I raised an eyebrow. "Did we really sleep that late?"

He nodded. "It was like 11 when I got to your house." I remained silent while he got up, put his bowl in the sink, and gathered his stuff up.

"So," he trailed, trying to break the awkward silence between us, "I'll see you Monday?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

He gave me a small smile.  _I'll miss you_ , I wanted to say, but I didn't. "Bye Stump." He waved before walking out the door.

"Bye," I whispered, but he was already gone.

And the sadness was beginning to creep back in again.

\-----------------------------

I gripped the straps of my backpack tighter, bowing my head down lower as I quickened my pace, trying to get to my next class as soon as possible. English.

We had five minutes between classes to get to our next one, and while most students took their time, I nearly sprinted through the halls. It wasn't a safe place to be. In the halls, anyone could yell things at me, point at me and laugh with their friends, and even grab me and beat me to a pulp. And no one would stop them.

But if I were inside a classroom with a teacher, all of that was a lot less likely. Especially in Pete's class, where he didn't tolerate bullying of any kind. I felt safe in his room, in his arms. He made me feel protected from everyone, including myself.

I was almost the class. I was just past the bathrooms, I just had to turn the corner and I would be safe for at least the next hour. I suddenly was jerked backward as the result of someone grabbing the handle of my backpack. They spun me around, slamming me into the locker.

"Hey, fagtrick! Long time, no see!" Jake said. My head was pounding, throbbing as a result of being thrown into the locker so hard. I slumped to the ground, not hearing what he was yelling at me. Everything seemed to be underwater. He laughed, pointing to his friend before each one of them grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me into the bathroom.

"I was talking to you, say something!" He yelled, letting go of my ankle before proceeding to kick me in the ribs. "Cat got your tongue, homo?"

They continued to laugh, kicking me wherever they could, screaming at me while laughing, as if beating up the gay kid was causing them to have the time of their lives.

_You belong in hell._

_You're pathetic. A fag. A loser. No one would love you._

_Even a prostitute would deny you, that's how gross you are._

A month ago, if they said these things to me, they would mean nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. I was so used to hearing them every day that I had grown immune to their insults. I was just numb. I would've just silently accepted their beating, lying motionless, emotionless, on the bathroom floor. But so much has changed in a month.

Pete was trying to help me. He was getting me to not think so negatively of myself. He was trying to show me that the world wasn't a bad place, there was just a handful of bad people. Don't get me wrong, I was still wallowing around in a pool of self-pity at all times, but I had at least begun to accept that fact that being gay was okay and that I wasn't a pathetic, worthless piece of shit.

But apparently, I was wrong.

I was no longer numb to the things that they were saying. The bullying had gone down, largely due to the fact that I was eating lunch in Pete's classroom. But I wasn't used to hearing these things said to me, I was only used to them coming from my own head, not out of someone else's mouth.

And the latter hurt so much more.

Though I didn't make a noise, the tears began to fall down my face as they continued to laugh and yell at me and their kicks grew stronger. I couldn't allow myself to cry anymore in front of them, or else things would just end up worse. But I couldn't hold it in anymore. I let out a sob, which was masked by the sound of the bell ringing. The two ran out of the bathroom, leaving me laying empty and broken on the bathroom floor.

I grabbed my sides, hunching over as I let out a string of sobs, trying to compose myself. I tried pulling myself back together, but I couldn't. I tried, but it just wasn't working.

It was like breaking a glass. Once you broke it, there was no turning back. You could pick up all the pieces, but it's almost impossible to find every last single shard. When you put it back together, there will still be holes of the pieces you can't find. You can spend your entire life trying to find them all again, but it will be nearly impossible to find them all again. When you did find the pieces to put back together, one wrong move and you can easily cut, stab, or impale yourself. It was hard to fix something broken without getting yourself.

And even if you did put everything back in its place, without getting hurt, You would still be able to see the cracks. You would still see the damage, the imperfections jutting through the once smooth pane. The broken glass would never be truly restored to the state that it was once in.

And I was that glass.

I felt something burning in my pockets. I always made sure I had one with me, though I had never done it before. My hand hovered over my jeans, itching to take it out. I decided against it.

After struggling to get up, I managed to pull myself off the cold tile floor. I gripped the sides of the sink, hunched over, staring into the sunken, reddened eyes of my reflection. The words that were thrown at me bounced around my head, though they didn't hurt this time around. I was growing numb again. Everything they said was true, so why should it hurt me? I should just accept the fact I'm worthless and move on with my pathetic life.

So that's what I did.

I dragged my feet as I walked through the halls to class. The late bell rang almost ten minutes ago, so everyone stared at me when I entered the classroom. I kept my eyes glued to the floor as I continued to limp to my desk.

Throughout the entire class, I didn't look up from my desk. I was too scared to see what expression Pete had on his face, after seeing me limp into class ten minutes late. He was an English major, he could read anyone like a book, and he knew exactly what happened.

I didn't say a word, nor did I hear a word that was said. The only thing I could hear was my own thoughts echoing through my head. The voices that told me I was better off dead took over, causing my eyes to lightly water. They didn't make me feel anything deeply hurting. They comforted me.

The fact that I didn't feel that hurt over them made me want to feel pain. I deserved to. The metal was burning a hole in my pocket once again, begging to be used.

I ignored it once again, it wasn't the place or the time. I was positive that Pete was looking at me the entire time. His gaze was making me feel uncomfortable, and I wanted to do nothing more than disappear. His face was going to be filled with worry and concern. When the bell rang, I looked up and met his gaze, confirming my suspicions.

I didn't say anything as the rest of the class trickled out. I pulled out my lunch and set it on my desk, not going over to Pete's like I usually did. I stared at the bag, not opening it.

"Patrick," Pete said, his voice filled with concern. I didn't want to look up, but I did, exposing my red, watery eyes. "I have to go talk to another teacher for just a minute. Will you be okay here?"

I nodded, causing him to sigh. He wanted to say something, but didn't, leaving the room. The burning in my pocket had grown to be too much. As soon as the door shut, I reached in and pulled it out, trying not to cut up fingers.

I turned the blade over and over in my hand. I had debated doing it for a long time, but I was too scared. Every time that I pulled out the blade, something would stop me from cutting myself. I always felt like I deserved to feel pain and that I wanted to feel pain. The internet romanticized it so much, so it couldn't possibly be that bad, right? I've read countless stories about how it caused people to feel a wave of relief when they drew blood. It would make me feel pain, yet take it all away.

It was exactly what I needed.

My hands were trembling and I was panting. I pulled up the sleeve of my left arm, struggling with the fabric. My vision was blurred, my head was pounding. I pressed the cold blade to my wrist, not with enough pressure to break my skin, but it was enough to make my heart race.

_Was it really worth it? Did I actually want to go through with this? What if I cut too deep? Who cares, it'd be nice if I just died here anyways._

My grip on the metal tightened, about to press it further into my skin, when the sound of a doorknob twisting broke the silence of the room. I jumped at the sudden noise, causing myself to cut my wrist.

 _"Shit,"_  I hissed under my breath. I yanked down my sleeve as Pete walked in the room. I hid the blade in my closed fist. I would put it in my pocket or my lunchbox or something later. 

I looked up, and Pete must've run across the room because he was already in front of my desk. I looked into his eyes and my stomach dropped. He moved my lunch to the side of the desk, sitting on the corner.

He held out his hand. "Give it to me."

I shied away from him, ashamed of myself. "I-I don't know what you're talking about." I stuttered.

"Don't." He said, his voice stern and cold. "Open your fist."

I opened my right hand, showing nothing inside of it. Under the table, my left hand was gripping the blade so hard my hand was beginning to bleed.

"Your other hand."

I looked down, biting my lip. My throat closed up and my eyes began to water.  _You're a fucking idiot, Patrick._

I brought my hand above my desk, shaking. I unclenched my fist, letting my fingers slowly uncurl, revealing the bloody blade.

He gasped. I looked up at his face once more, expecting him to be angry. Instead, his eyes were filled with pain as they began to water.

He grabbed the blade before running behind his desk, throwing it out. He picked up a roll of paper towels and returned to where he was sitting before. He quietly wiped the blood off my hand while I was wincing and stifling my sobs.

Once he was done, he took my sleeve, gently pushing it up. I burst into sobs, and he immediately took me into his arms.

"Shh," he tried to calm me down in between both of our cries. "Y-you're okay."

He pulled away, not letting go of my shoulders. I dropped my head, not wanting to look him in the face. He placed a finger under my chin, making me lift my head.

"Listen to me." He whispered. "You can't do this to yourself. I don't know your exact reasons, but whatever they are, you don't have to do this. There are other ways to deal with whatever you're feeling. That doesn't mean what you're feeling isn't valid, it is. You're a human being and you have feelings. But Patrick, I know you can't see it, but you're absolutely perfect. Amazing. Beautiful. Worth it. You are  _so_  worth it." He pulled me into his arms again, beginning to shake again. "You're worth it."

I know he was trying to make me feel better, but I couldn't help but feel guilty.  _You get hurt by everyone else, yet you go around hurting others. Way to go Patrick._

"It's going to get better." He said, rubbing small circles into my back. "It's going to work out. Give it a minute, it's going to turn around."

I took a deep breath, wanting to believe him, but part of me couldn't.

He pulled away again, looking me in the eyes. "Have you done this before?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled.

"Tough." He said, and I was surprised by how his voice had gone from so gentle to so cold. "You're not okay. I saw you in class today. You were on the verge of tears the entire time. You looked like you wanted to die. I'm extremely worried about you Patrick, you don't understand." He pleaded.

I shook my head. "This was the only time. I-I was debating it, I was so close. A-and then I heard the door and I-I panicked. M-my hand slipped. I-I didn't mean to, I-I'm sorry," I sobbed.

"But you've debated it before?" He asked.

"Almost every day."

He bit his lip. "What's your favorite color?"

I was surprised. "My- what?"

"Your favorite color. What is it?"

"Orange?" I said, but it was more like a question. He held up a finger, telling me to wait for a second. He got up and went to his desk, returning with an orange marker. He uncapped it and took my left arm, drawing on it.

"It's a butterfly. His name is Pete," he said, writing beneath it.

"It looks like a turd," I muttered.

He gave a soft, sad smile. "I'm an English teacher, not an art one. But this is Pete. Every time you try to hurt him, you hurt me too. If you cut, the butterfly dies. If it fades away, it lives. Every time you want to hurt yourself, draw a butterfly instead, and name it after someone you care about, someone who cares about you."

I didn't say anything for a minute. I looked up from my arm. "Y-you care about me?"

He smiled, but he looked like he wanted to cry again. "I have since the day I met you. I always will. Fuck the moon, I care about you to Pluto and back."

"Really?" I asked, surprised.

"Really."

I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. His t-shirt soon became soaked with my tears, but it was okay because he was crying too. Both of us refused to let go, letting our bodies fit perfectly together like they did that night on the couch. 

Neither of us let go until lunch was over.


	8. Overhead of the Aqua Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mention something called the day of silence. Some of the information I got from http://www.dayofsilence.org, I even directly quote it at one point. This is something that my school takes place in annually, and I didn't come up with it. But it's a great thing and if you want to know more about it, you can visit that link :))
> 
> I also mention a documentary called Louder Than A Bomb and I saw it in eighth grade and it was really good.

**I mention something called the day of silence. Some of the information I got from http://www.dayofsilence.org,**   **I even directly quote it at one point. This is something that my school takes place in annually, and I didn't come up with it. but it's a great thing and if you want to know more about it, you can visit that link :))**

**I also mention a documentary called _Louder Than A Bomb_ and I saw it in eighth grade and it was really good.**

**ALSO HOLY FUCK I SAW WEEZER AND PANIC THE OTHER NIGHT AND DALLON WEEKES IS A BEAUTIFUL CREATURE AND WE WERE IN THE PIT AND WE MANAGED TO MAKE OUR WAY TO THE SECOND OR THIRD ROW DEAD CENTER I WAS FIVE FEET FROM RIVERS CUOMO AND MY DAD ALSO CAUGHT BRENDON URIE'S PICK HELP**

**BLINK-182'S ALBUM IS ALSO SO GOOD**

**AND I STARTED LISTENING TO THE BROBECKS AND THEY'RE AMAZING**

**Anyways c** **omment "Lauren needs to shorten her author's notes" if you read this.**

\---------------------------

"Remember to drop your poems that are due today in the basket at some point during this class period." Mr. Wentz said when the bell rang.  _God, it felt so weird to even think_ Mr. Wentz  _instead of_ Pete.

I had already turned in my poem at the beginning of class, titled  _The (After) Life Of The Party._ I had written it just after Pete had left my place and everything that I was feeling before he left came crashing down on me all at once again. Last week I had submitted  _Just One Yesterday_ , and then on Friday, I had submitted  _The (Shipped) Gold Standard._ I was a big fan of parenthesis (if you haven't noticed).

I pulled out my notebook and started writing some random lyrics that came to mind. That's how I wrote. I would just jot down random things that sounded nice and tried to play ideas off of each other.

_I'm just such a happy mess._

_I'm the invisible man, who can't stop staring at the mirror._

I was also a fan of irony.

"Alright, guys," Pete announced, seeming way too overly enthusiastic about something. Others must've had the same thought, as people were all sharing worried glances.

"So you all should submit your sixth poem today. That means that there are only four left. Your last poem will be due on April 12th. Hopefully, I'll have identified all of you by the end of that week."

Part of me hoped that he would never be able to figure out that my poems belonged to me. I actually really liked this assignment. He was right, it was a way to express myself. It was a way for me to not let my feelings bottle up inside of me until I exploded. It made things that much more personal, and I was scared of what he would say to me when he finally put two and two together and realized that the poems were mine. Yet at the same time, I wanted him to discover me. They were not just a way to get my feelings out, they were a cry for help. I wanted his help, I needed his help, I needed him. I was just too scared to directly come out and say it.

"I've been trying to come up with a culminating activity to wrap up this unit. After a lot of thinking, I've decided to host a poetry slam. Does anyone know what that is?"

Most people shrugged and looked at their friends. One girl raised her hand. "Yes, Sarah?"

"It's kind of like a contest where people read and recite their poems." She stated.

He nodded. "Exactly. After I'm done explaining things, I'll show part of a documentary called  _Louder Than A Bomb,_ which we can finish next class. Hopefully, it will allow some of you to be inspired to put a little more emotion into your writing and take this a bit more seriously." He seemed to look directly at some of the students who sat in the back of the class and didn't give a shit about anything.

"So, a week after your final poem is due, we will be having a poetry slam. It's on April 19th, and all of you will be expected to attend. It's during a school day in fifth and sixth period, so I have permission slips for you to fill out."

"Do we  _have_ to perform?" Someone from the back of the room groaned, followed by a chorus of  _yeah_ 's.

Pete sighed. "No, but I want as many of you to perform as possible. There are a limited number of people who can perform, so please sign up as soon as you can. It will be extra credit."

That seemed to grab people's attention. "How much?"

"If you perform, it's two points added to your final grade for the quarter. There will also be a panel of judges, composed of other teachers in the building. Fifth place through first will each receive an additional point per place. So fifth place will receive three extra credit points, and first will receive seven. Places three through one will also get visa gift cards and shit like that."

People seemed to be excited by this. "And you don't have to perform alone, either. You can do it with a partner or a group of friends. You can also turn your poetry into a song. It doesn't matter, as long as it is your own work. Any other questions?"

He answered a handful of irrelevant questions before going to play the documentary. I should've been paying attention, but instead, I got my notebook and continued writing my poem.

I felt Pete's eyes burning into my head the entire time.

\--------------------------

I didn't speak much during lunch. Pete kept on insisting for me to tell him what was wrong, as he didn't believe me when I said that I was fine. I was telling the truth. I mean, I was never completely fine, who was? I just didn't feel like talking, and I remained silent and emotionless through the rest of the hour.

However, Pete thought it would be a great idea if I came to his club's meeting after school. I told him I would think about it, but I wasn't really all that motivated to go today. 

But he won in the end, and now I was standing outside his door.

Reluctantly, I took a deep breath and walked inside. There were about 15 people, and I wanted to turn around and run away. If no one saw me, and if I left, it would be okay, right?

"Patrick!" Pete beamed, staring at me.  _Too late._ I gave a soft smile, trying not to show the fact that I did not want to be here right now. "I'm glad you could make it! We'll start in a few minutes, we're just waiting on a few more people."

I sat alone at a desk right in front of his as I played with my thumbs. I hoped that he would talk to me, but he was too busy talking with Mr. Carver, who I assumed was also part of the club. I just wanted to get out of here.  _It was only an hour. I can do this. Before I know it, the hour will be up and I can go home._ A few people trickled into the classroom. I would glance at everyone who did do. The last two people, however, caught my attention more than the rest. Joe and Andy.

Their mouths dropped, surprised at the fact that I had shown up to this. I immediately looked away from them, not wanting to hold eye contact. They had been my closest two friends, and they  _left me_  because of who I was. They began walking towards me.  _How could the two of them, being the ignorant jerks that they were, join a club like this? How could Pete let them in like this?_

Thankfully, he began speaking before they got too close to me. "Alright! Thanks for showing up people, take a seat." He pulled up a document on his computer, displaying it on the Promethean board. 

"Okay, so most of you were here last week. We brainstormed a list of topics that we wanted to focus on in this club. So you can see, we have stuff such as mental health, LGBTQ+ rights, domestic violence, sexual harassment, women's rights, and so on. While we can discuss any of these issues or more within the club, we also want to be able to do campaigns around the school, and it's going to be hard to do all of these. So everyone voted for two topics that they'd like to focus on the most, and you guys wanted to focus on mental health and LGBTQ+ rights."

Most people nodded in agreement, and Mr. Carver continued. "So I did my research because Mr. Wentz and I suck at coming up with things, and we found something called the Day of Silence."

He began reading directly from a website that he pulled up. " _The GLSEN Day of Silence is a student-led national event that brings attention to anti-LGBT name-calling, bullying, and harassment in schools. Students from middle school to college take a vow of silence in an effort to encourage schools and classmates to address the problem of anti-LGBT behavior by illustrating the silencing effect of bullying and harassment on LGBT students and those perceived to be LGBT._ "

"So I talked to the principal about this and they're totally on board with it. This year it's on April 15th, which is in just under three weeks. Today, we'll be coming up with posters and what not to advertise this. We'll also come up with something for the morning announcements to get the word out. Next week, we'll give you guys sign up sheets. You can go around the cafeteria during your lunch wave, getting people to sign up."

Andy spoke from the other side of the room. It had been forever since I heard his voice. "So we're getting people to volunteer to not talk for a whole day?" He asked.

"Basically," Pete said. "9 out of 10 LGBTQ+ students report some type of harassment at school, most of it being verbal. It's more than just being quiet for a day. It's bringing awareness to this, and it's going to help us come closer to making harassment and bullying of these students stop in our school. Everyone who signs up will be able to go to a table in the front lobby when they come to school in the morning and get a sign to wear showing that they're participating."

"Teachers will be able to take part as well." Mr. Carver interjected. "So get them to sign up too! The two of us will be doing so."

I zoned out while people were asking questions and they continued to explain. I'd probably sign up, it wasn't too hard to shut my mouth for 24 hours. I've gone nearly two weeks without talking once, so what's another day?

Besides, I was starting to talk too much. I was getting too close to Pete. All he was going to do was leave me just like everyone else did. He had begun to break down the walls I worked so hard to put up around myself, and I needed to change that. I couldn't let him do this to me. The closer he got to me, the worse he'd be able to hurt me.

Before I knew it, the meeting was over and people were beginning to pack up their stuff. I saw Joe and Andy walk over to me and my breathing hitched. Despite me not wanting to have to turn to Pete for help, I looked over to him to give him a pleading look, but he was talking to another student. I leaned over to pack my stuff into my bag, shrinking into my seat, trying to make myself disappear.

"Patrick." I heard the voice that I hadn't heard in so long. I slowly turned my head to look at Joe, my eyes filled with fear.

I cleared my throat, trying to seem strong, but I honestly just wanted to cry.  _They're a great reminder that you're pathetic. Even your friends couldn't handle you being gay. This is why you can't let Pete close to you._ "If you're here to call me a pathetic faggot, I already know, so you can just leave me alone."

He sighed and shot a worried glance at Andy. "We're not going to do that, Patrick-"

"You're going to what?" I began to raise my voice, and people around me began to notice. I got up out of my desk and took a step back. "Beat me up? Believe what everyone else says? Why are you even in this club if you think I should die?"

Andy pleaded with me. "Patrick, we didn't mean a thing we said or did. We were just scared. We came to apologize."

I was stunned for a moment. "You- what?"

Joe sighed. "We feel awful for everything we did to you. We did from the second we said we weren't friends with you anymore. We never meant a word of it, we were just so scared of what would happen to us if we were friends with you."

I shook my head. "I can't just forgive you."

"Patrick- we're really sorry-" Andy began, but I cut him off.

"I get it!" My voice was about a decibel away from a yell. "Go ahead, apologize all you want! But if you think that I'm going to forgive you in a heartbeat, then get over yourselves. You guys left me alone. I was so, completely, utterly  _alone. 'Sorry'_ isn't going to change that. Nothing will."

"Patrick-"

"Maybe one day." I looked them in the eyes. "But for right now, I just can't forgive you."

I stormed out, leaving them to yell after me. They were my only friends, and they left me. They joined in on the bullying. Yeah, it hurt when everyone would laugh at me sitting alone during lunch, calling me a faggot. But it hurt even more when two people you have known since second grade, who swore to be your best friends for life, turned on you in a single day. They ripped out my heart and broke me into pieces.

I didn't hear the footsteps following me. So when a hand rested on my shoulder, I jumped.

"Patrick." A soft voice that instantly comforted me said. The way my name rolled off his tongue so effortlessly caused me to melt inside. I turned around and faced him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm-"

"No, never mind." He said. "Stupid question, I know you're not okay. What's wrong?"

I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. I looked down, not wanting to look him in the eyes. I was scared that he would be able to see right through me. "It's nothing."

"Hey," He rested his hand on my arm. "I get that you might not want to talk about it, but maybe it would be nice to let your feelings out?"

I shook his hand off of me. "It doesn't concern you."

He sighed. I looked up and saw defeat in his eyes. "I'm just concerned for you. A lot. I-"

"Yeah, right." I spat.

A look of shock washed over his face. "What-"

"You don't care. No one does. You just feel pity towards me. Stop trying to help me, I hate you! I never want to talk to you again. This isn't normal. You're my teacher, you're only concerned for me because it's written in your job description! You're forced to care, you don't actually give a shit about me!" I was screaming at this point. I didn't mean a single word that I was so venomously shouting at him, it was more directed towards how I felt about Andy and Joe. They just felt obligated to care about me for all of those years, and finally had an excuse to get rid of me.

"What's gotten into you?" He said, taking a step closer.

"Nothing." I shook my head. "Nothing. I've always been like this."

"P-"

"Stop trying to fix me! Stop treating me like I'm some piece of glass that's going to break at any moment! I can take care of myself, I don't need some English teacher all up in my ass all the time! I like being alone, so leave me like that."

I turned around and ran down the hall, away from him. I pushed my glasses up, wiping the tears that continuously flowed from my eyes. I didn't mean a single word. I wanted Pete to comfort him, I  _needed_ him to. It was like there were two people controlling me, one of them was constantly pushing Pete away and the other craved his sympathy. I wanted the latter to win all the time, but I just couldn't control it sometimes. I had all of these feelings and anger bottled up, and I took it all out on him. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't fair to him. I was a monster.

I slowed down, my steps becoming shorter until I stopped altogether. I braced myself against the wall, my forehead pressed against the cold brick. I let the tears fall freely from my face. I let the sobs escape from my lips.

I felt a pair of arms wrap around my stomach. I turned around, pressing my head into his chest, melting into his embrace.

"I-I'm sorr-"

"Don't apologize," he said with a slight amount of pain in his voice. "I know you didn't mean any of it."

"I n-need you." I cried. "Please don't l-leave me."

He held me tighter as if he were afraid that I would slip away. "I'd never dream of it."


	9. Empty Your Sadness

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

_And I can see the pain in you_

_And I can see the love in you_

_And fighting all the demons will take time_

_Angels or Devils, Dishwalla_

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

I repeatedly passed the crumpled yellow paper between my hands. I curled and uncurled my fists, feeling the post-it note crumple between my fingers. I didn't need to look at it, as I had read it over and over again to the point where I could recall everything written on it.

_I'm not even going to bother asking if you're okay because you're obviously not. I can tell you've had a really shitty day. Do you want to talk about it? You can meet me at my place or yours or call me or whatever you're comfortable with. Text me and let me know._

_Pete x_

I don't even remember him giving me the note. We didn't even talk during lunch. He must've slipped it in my bag or something when I wasn't looking. Jake and his friends had gotten to me again before class, and today seemed like nothing but a flashback of what happened when they beat me up the other day. I didn't mutter a single word throughout the entirety of class and lunch. Usually, I would at least write something on my paper in English. But instead, I sat there with my head in my hands as all of my thoughts screamed at me at once. The pain they inflicted on me, the pressure of making up with my ex-friends, the thoughts of being a burden, and my feelings for Pete were all crowding up my mind. I felt the weight of everything crashing onto my shoulders as it crept into my head and attempted to squeeze my brain out of my skull. 

If it had been anyone else, I would have told them that everything was okay, that I was just tired and I wanted to go home and sleep it off. But I had nobody else to turn to, and this was Pete. He actually, genuinely cared about everything I had to say.

The teacher in my current class was too preoccupied with whatever was on their computer screen to even look at the students, so I pulled out my phone.

**_To: Pete_ **

_I'll come I guess. I don't have a car or anything, though._

His reply was almost instantaneous, as he didn't have a class and was probably tired of reading poetry after 4 weeks.

**_From: Pete_ **

_That's totally fine. Meet me at the road in back of the school 10 after 2? I'm glad you're coming :)_

I smirked, thinking about the double meaning of the last word.

**_To: Pete_ **

_Sure._

I put my phone away, not wanting to talk to anyone more than necessary. I felt the buzz of my phone in my pocket several times, and it was hard to resist grabbing it and spending the rest of the school day texting him.

\---------------------------

I paced the sidewalk beside the road, waiting for Pete. The thoughts of anxiety began to creep into my head.  _What if he didn't show up? What if he forgets about me? What if he doesn't show up on purpose? What if this was a prank, and he was going to leave me stranded with no way home? What if he does show up, and someone sees me getting in his car?_

The questions swimming in my head were interrupted when his car pulled up next to me.

"Get in loser, we're going shopping." I climbed in the car and glanced at the dashboard.  _2:11_  "C'mon, no smile? Laugh?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, did you make a joke or something?"

"It's from Mean Girls." A look of panic washed over his face. "Have you ever even seen that movie?"

"No."

He clutched his chest in fake pain. "Dear God, child, you haven't lived!" He looked over at me, a grin plastered across his face, but I merely bit my lip and looked at the ground. He sighed and began driving. "Sorry, I tried to be on time. I almost was. Anyways, it's only a ten-minute drive. Do you want music on?"

I shook my head and stared out the windshield. He tried on several occasions to make conversation with me or try to make me laugh, but nothing worked. He eventually gave up and settled for sneaking short, worried glances at me throughout the ride.

I didn't know why I was acting like this. I didn't even know why I was feeling this, or  _what_  I was feeling. I felt completely and utterly numb and empty for no reason. Usually, I was laughing and bouncing off the walls whenever I was with him. But I couldn't even muster up enough strength to look him in the eye. He was bringing me over to talk to him. If I couldn't even  _look_  at him, how could I do that?

We finally pulled up to a white house that wasn't far from mine. We didn't say much as we walked side by side. His hand was inches to mine, and I had to stop myself from reaching over and grabbing it.

"Mi casa es su casa." He smiled as he opened the door, leading me inside. "Want anything to eat or drink?"

I just shook my head and he frowned. He grabbed my hand and I followed him, our fingers lightly intertwined. I followed him up the stairs and into the bedroom, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Not the most appropriate place for a student-teacher conversation, I know," he chuckled. "But it's the only room that's not a complete disaster. You can put your stuff down wherever."

I felt awkward standing there, so I shrugged off my backpack and let it fall to the floor next to the door as some of its contents spilled out. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other as I stood in front of Pete, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. I made eye contact with him for a split second, making my stomach feel bottomless.

We stayed silent for several minutes, him being eager to talk while I just wanted to curl into a ball and die. He couldn't seem to take it anymore, as he was almost ripping out his hair. He screamed. "Jesus Christ, Patrick, can you just fucking say something! Anything! That's why you're here, so just do it!"

I took several steps back without realizing it, frightened by the way he raised his voice. His face was one of anger before it was quickly replaced with sadness as he realized that he had scared me. He got up and made two long strides before wrapping his arms around me.

"I'm sorry." I choked.

"No," he said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, it was uncalled for. You've had a bad day and you obviously don't want to talk about it right now, and I should have respected that. I'm sorry."

I nodded into his chest, balling his t-shirt into my fists. I let myself sink into his embrace. It made me feel safe. He made me feel protected. He made me feel loved.

"I know that my hugs are the best ever, but my feet are starting to hurt." He said. I slowly pulled away and gave him a small smile, and it seemed to make his day. "There it is! There's that smile that we all love."

I blushed, biting my lip to try to suppress my growing smiled, but failed. "C'mon don't be embarrassed. Your smile's adorable."

I chuckled, looking down at the floor as I went to sit on the bed next to him. But it soon faded and I looked up at his concerned expression.

He reached over and grabbed my hand. "Spill."

"W-what?"

"Just say it. Just get it all over with." He sighed and gestured to my backpack by the door. "Let it all out. Empty your sadness like you're dumping your bag on my bedroom floor. Say whatever you're feeling, I'll listen."

I took a deep breath. I started talking slowly, but before I knew it all of the feelings were spilling out of me and the words were flying from my mouth. "I just- today jake and his idiot friends beat me up in the bathroom again like that one day where I was acting like this all day. That was kind of the breaking point. Joe and Andy used to be my best friends and I don't know if I'm supposed to forgive them. I miss them, sure, but they left me completely  _alone._ And I feel like shit because I should be happy. I should be doing great. My friends want to be friends again and everything is going great with you but at the same time I pull shit like this and it's not. Nothing's wrong and it's making everything wrong. I just want to curl up and die for no reason half the time. And sometimes I'm not even feeling anything. I just feel completely  _numb._ And I can't even feel emotions like a normal human and I'm dumb and stupid and a pathetic excuse for a person. A waste of space.

"And then I'll just bottle up whatever is happening because I can't let it out any other way because you're the only person who cares and I can't always talk to you. Sometimes the writing helps but a piece of paper can't listen. And my mom just ignores me all the time like I don't even exist because she wanted so much more in a son. And no one at school would give a shit if I died. And there's not even a valid reason for me feeling any of this, there are people out there with legit problems while I'm just over here crying like a blubbering idiot and it makes me feel even worse.

"And I'm trying to be better. I really am. You're a large part of me being happy. Whenever I'm with you, I generally can't help it but feel happy. And so I'm with you and I'll be fine one day but one tiny thing will tick me off and send me back into this hole all over again."

He immediately wrapped his arms around me again and buried his face in my neck. "You're not pathetic. You're not a waste of space. It's okay to not have an exact reason to feel this way, whatever you're feeling is completely valid."

I nodded and he pulled away. "Sorry, I was r-ranting, thanks for listening-"

"It's okay." He cut me off. "Again, you can do it anytime."

I nodded again. "You're the only person who will actually listen to me. Like you understand me and everything I'm going through and how it's possible for someone to feel this way."

He rubbed my hand, which he had still not let go of. "I get how you feel, I know what it feels like. Like the world is out to get you. Like whenever it rains, it pours. Am I right?"

"Exactly." I breathed, and then it hit me. "Wait-"

"There's a reason why I was so drawn to you when I met you. Why I took one look at you and knew that you were dying; like you were drowning and watching everyone else swim around you."

I stayed silent for a minute when it all came down on me at once. My stomach felt like a bottomless pit. I looked back up at him and could only see someone who used to be as hurt as I was. "Y-You understand because you've been through this before."

He nodded. "Almost exactly like you. I came out in High School, my senior year, and all of my friends left me. I was a freak. I wished someone was there for me. I saw you and knew that I had to be that person for you."

My eyes widened. "You're gay?"

"Bi, actually," he said. "And that was part of it. Things would have been so much more simple if I were just gay or straight. If I could just  _choose_  one over the other. There was a gay guy at my school, and people accepted him, but not me. Even  _he_ didn't accept me."

"I-I'm so sorry-"

"No," he cut me off again. "This isn't about me, it's about you. My point is, I just know what it feels like to be you. To be crying and everyone around you is laughing. To be falling and everyone else is flying. Like you're dying and everyone else is living. Like everyone else is in color and you're just alone in black and white. I know what it was like to be alone like you and to have no one there for you. And I wanted to be there for you. Even if I was the only one, I wanted to be there for you."

My heart felt like it was melting straight out of my chest. "I know you want to be there for me, but I still feel like a burden every time I ask for help."

He shook his head. "You just don't get it, do you? I'll always be there for you. I'll answer your every cry for help, Patrick. Verbal or not. I'll be yours. Just say the word, and I'll be there. I'd do anything for you. I'll take any beating for you. I'll always fall from your window to the pitch black streets. Hell, I'd take a bullet for you. Again and again. I'd do it all again. I- fuck, are you crying?"

"I- No." I sniffled. "Yes."

"Did I do that?" He asked, and I nodded. "Shit, I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up, Pete." I laughed. "I just-"  _I love you,_ I almost said, and even the brief thought of the phrase scared me.

He smiled. "Do I really mean that much to you?"

 _More than you could ever imagine._ "Y-yeah."

"I think you're my best friend," he fucking  _giggled_ before pulling me into his chest. "I swear to God, only you could make being awkward that damn cute."

"Cute? Do you call all your students that?" I smirked.

"Nah," he said, "just the ones that come to my house and cry about their life problems."

"Got it. So all of them?"

He rolled his eyes, and I couldn't help but laugh. "You're so damn annoying, Stump."

"Sorry,  _Wentz."_

He groaned. "Please don't call me that. It makes me feel like we're about to have some kinky roleplaying sex."

I let my hand trail down from his shoulder, whispering in his ear. "Then don't call me Stump."

He bit his lip as my hand moved away from his lower torso and back to where it had previously rested. He looked around. "Fine then,  _Pattycakes._ "

I groaned. "Fuck it. I take it back. Call me Stump."

"What about Daddy?"

"I swear to fucking God, Pete, I know where you live now. If you ever call me that I will burn your house down as you sleep."

"Geez, someone's moody."

I rolled my eyes. You would think this guy was a 12 year old, not a full grown man who was a  _teacher._ "Whatever. Just call me Stump."  _Stop fucking flirting with your teacher, Patrick._

"Sure. But before we get too far," he winked, "are there any other life problems you'd like to rant about?"

I sighed. "What should I do about the whole Joe and Andy situation?"

"Do whatever feels right. I think you should forgive them- or at least try to. They're nice people, I think they're telling the truth when they said that they were just scared of others. But again, do whatever feels right to you."

"Thanks, Pete."

He lifted up my fedora and ruffled my hair. "No problemo, Stumperino."

I laughed. "You're a nerd."

"Oh really?" He smirked. "If you're going to insult me like that in my own home then I can just take you home right now-"

"Jesus, I'm kidding!"

"I know." He said. "But really, do you want me to drive you home now or later or have your mom pick you up or what?"

I shrugged. "C-can I stay the night? I know there's school tomorrow but I always have a change of clothes in my bag and you can drop me off like a mile from school and I can walk part of the way so we don't get there together."

"You make a good-"

"Please?" I begged. I didn't want to go home. I never wanted to leave. I never wanted to be anywhere other than in Pete's arms.

"Fine." He mumbled. "But I'm making you watch The Bachelor with me. What kind of pizza do you like?"

I had to refrain from laughing when he said he watched the bachelor. "Uh, bacon."

He nodded and ordered. Soon, I found myself cuddling with Pete, in his bed, in the dark, watching a bunch of women fight over the same guy.

"This is how STDs are spread," I mumbled. After putting up with the damn show for half an hour, I couldn't help but make a comment.

"He's about to give out the roses!" He yelled. "Shut up!"

"Make me." He turned his head so that he was looking me in the eyes. We both glanced down as one of his hands grabbed mine and the other wrapped around my waist. My breathing hitched as our eyes locked. They gently fluttered shut as his face grew closer to mine. My hands slid around the back of his neck. It was like nothing else mattered. I couldn't hear the Tv in the background. Everything seemed miles away. It was just the two of us.

And just as our lips were about to touch, the doorbell rang, causing us the break apart.

As he left me alone to get the pizza, he was the only thing running through my mind.

_I almost kissed Pete Wentz._


	10. I Think You're My Best Friend

 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

_"Go on alone because I won't follow_

_This isn't giving up, no, this is letting go_

_Out with the old dreams I've borrowed_

_The path I carve from here on out will be my own_

_The path will be my own"_

_-This is Letting Go, Rise Against_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

I smiled to myself as I tossed my Pre-Calc binder in my backpack after finishing the homework. I had completed the entire thing with a breeze, not having any trouble with any of the problems.

Things had been beginning to look up. Ever since Mr. Carver and Pete started that club, the bullying had gone down. Don't get me wrong, I still had the occasional  _'faggot'_  thrown at me, but it wasn't even comparable to what I had experienced at the beginning of the year. People weren't deriding me on a daily basis anymore.

I've seemed to pull myself out of this rut that I've been stuck in for so long. I've stopped caring about what others think so much. I didn't want to cry every time I looked into a mirror. I've started to care more about myself. My grades were going back up to the level they should be at. I've started putting effort into my appearance. I've stopped hating myself and began to slowly begin to accept that I wasn't a useless piece of shit, that I was actually worth something and had a place in this world.

And it was largely thanks to Pete.

He seemed to be the only one to notice I was stuck in that monotonous rut. He was the one who had thrown me the rope, begging me to climb out.

Again, don't get me wrong, I still didn't completely love myself. But I was getting better. Slowly, but surely.

My phone began buzzing against my desk, making me jump. I picked it up and frowned as I read the screen.

_Pete Wentz would like to FaceTime._

While he was the one who was helping me out of my misery, things were kind of awkward between us. Ever since our near-kiss, we've been almost as distant as when we first met. I mean, if put in our situation, who wouldn't? I almost kissed my English teacher  _in his bed,_ for crying out loud.

My phone stopped ringing and I immediately felt guilty. I picked it up and called him back. He picked up as soon as I rang.

"Hey, Stump!" He yelled, his smiling face filling the screen. I couldn't help but let a smirk sneak its way onto my face,

"Hey! Sorry I missed when you first called, I was away from my phone for a minute." I lied.

"It's fine." He laughed. "I just called to bother you anyway."

I groaned. "Pete, I'm trying to study here."

He gasped. "Patrick Stump? Doing work? Quick, look out your window and tell me if pigs are flying, too."

"You're so mean." I pouted. "AP tests are in a few weeks, I  _have_ to study."

"I told you, Stump, I'm just trying to bother you."

"Well, it's working." I spat and flipped through my review book.

"Don't be like that." He said and I didn't respond. He sighed. "I'm sorry, I-I just want things to be like they were before."

"Me too," I said almost instantaneously. "Can we agree to stop being so awkward around each other?"

"I mean, you're always awkward so-"

"You know damn well what I mean." I laughed, and he smiled.

"Yeah, okay. So what are you studying for?"

"AP Physics."

He laughed. "Yeah, don't ask me for help on that one. All I can do is distract you."

I slammed my book shut. "Please do."

"What?"

I groaned. "I  _cannot_ understand torque. I've been trying to calculate where the fulcrum should be for this one really complicated system for like, three days and I  _can't_ and the teacher is so bad and we haven't learned anything but then again I haven't really been giving a shit and I'm so confused and I don't even know what a fulcrum  _is_ and-"

"Okay, shut up. You're giving me high school flashbacks, kid. I've been through your hell, I don't want to go back."

"Yet you decided you wanted to spend the rest of your life teaching high schoolers."

He pressed his lips into a line, knowing I had made a solid point. "Fuck off, Stump."

"Gladly," I laughed and reached my hand towards the camera like I was going to hang up the call.

"No, please, I'm sorry!" He yelled. "Please don't hang up, I'm  _so bored._ "

"Why are you calling me?" I asked. "Don't you have some actual adult friends you can hang out with?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I think you're my best friend, actually."

I blushed. "Pretty sure you've already told me this."

He gripped his chest. "Excuse you! You're supposed to say I'm your best friend,  _too._ Am I not your best friend? I thought we were supposed to be best friends forever!"

I let out a laugh that caused my hat to fall off. I picked it up and put it back on my head, wiping away imaginary tears. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're my only friend."

"Your laugh is really cute." I blushed. "No, like  _really_  cute. You don't laugh that much, but when you laugh like that, it's just, it's great."

"Uh, thanks." I scratched the back of my head and nearly knocked off my hat again.

"Didn't you hang out with Joe and Andy today?" He asked.

I let out a sigh. "Yeah, but it was really weird. They spent half the time apologizing for what they did. It wasn't like it used to be. We're thinking of doing a band for the poetry slam. We still need a bassist, though."

"I could do it," he said, and my head popped up.

"Isn't that against the rules or something?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I mean, I made the rules, so no."

"You'd really do that? For me?" I asked, a smile plastering across my face.

"Yeah, I would." He was silent for a second. "You look really good today."

I smiled lightly and looked down at what I was wearing, which actually wasn't sweatpants for once. It wasn't much, just skinny jeans, boots, and a cardigan, but it was a step up from my usual attire. I was beginning to actually give a shit about what I looked like.

"Uh, thanks."

"Like, you've been looking  _great_  lately and-"

"What's with all the compliments?" I asked out of curiosity, and he blushed.

"Uh, nothing, I just-"

I laughed, cutting him off, but paused when I heard the sound of the garage door opening.

"You okay there?" I heard him ask.

"Uh, yeah, my mom's just home." I heard her coming up the stairs. "I'm gonna have to call you back."

"Okay. Bye, I guess-"

I hung up the call as soon as she walked in, letting out an inaudible sigh of relief. "Hey honey. Who're you calling?"

"Uh, Joe." I lied.

"That's nice! He hasn't been over in a while. You guys doing well?" She smiled.

"Yeah."

She turned around, and I let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She began walking out of my room and stopped when she reached the door. She turned around again and said the words I'd been dreading to hear. My stomach dropped to the floor as panic rushed through my body. "Your report card came in the mail today."

"Look, Mom, I'm really sorry and I tried my best and-"

She cut me off by running over and pulling me into a hug that crushed every bone in my body. "I'm so proud of you!"

I was startled, expecting her to yell at me for my grades  _again._

"Look at this! All A's and B's! And two A+'s!" She handed me the sheet of paper, kissing me on the forehead. "You've improved so much this quarter. Especially in English! I'm so proud of you!"

I looked at the report card and nearly fell off my chair.

_English 11 Honors: A+_

_Pre-Calculus Honors: B-_

_AP Physics: B_

_AP US History: B+_

_AP Music Theory: A+_

_Spanish 4: A-_

_Civics: B_

"Holy shit." Usually, my mom would hit me for using language like that, but she just hugged me again.

"How about we go out for dinner tonight? And ice cream? I was thinking that we could go to that new seafood place?"

I tugged on the sleeves of my cardigan and smiled. This was one of the only decent conversations I've had with my mom since the beginning of the school year. We used to get along just fine, but once my grades started slipping she would do nothing but yell at me. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

"We'll leave in an hour?"

I nodded and she left the room. I picked up the paper, reading it over and over again, trying to figure out if it was for real or not.

**_From: Pete_ **   
_Hey, is everything okay?_

**_To: Pete_ **

_Yeah, I just got my report card, and I actually did well..? I'm going to dinner, I'll ttyl._

**_From: Pete_ **

_That's awesome!_

**_To: Pete_ **

_Yeah, I guess. Talk to you later._

_**From: Pete** _

_Alright. Peace out, Stump._

I laughed to myself at the last text. What a dork.

\--------------------------

I awkwardly sat in the corner in Joe's garage, clutching the neck of my guitar. Joe and Andy were standing in the middle, fighting over who's poem they were going to base our song after.

"C'mon Joe, why can't we do my poem? Even Patrick said it was great!"

Joe crossed his arms. "Yeah? Well, Mr. Wentz hasn't figured out that I write my poems yet."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Maybe it's because they're so bad that he doesn't  _want_  to know who wrote them!"

"Whatever. I'm just not using any poem written by you."

"Fine."

"Fine."

I bit my lip. I really didn't want to use a poem that I wrote, but at the same time, I really did. "Hey, guys?"

They turned their heads towards me, most likely only just remembering that I was there the whole time.

"What about Patrick's poems? He probably has some song lamenting the loss of his soul or some shit like that."

Andy just laughed at Joe. "Only you would use an SAT word and 'some shit' in the same sentence."

He just shrugged. "Well, Patrick, got anything?"

"Uh," I turned around to grab my backpack as I searched for my notebook. "I have this one poem that's not completely finished yet, but I wrote a melody and started writing some music for it."

Andy took it and looked it over. "I can't whistle!" He yelled. "Can you whistle?"

Joe just nodded and started to whistle  _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,_ causing Andy to roll his eyes and hit him with the notebook.

He yelped in pain and grabbed his arm. "What, you asked?"

Andy just rolled his eyes again. "It looks great, but we would need a bassist to play this."

"Oh, right," I said, and their eyes widened.

"You have a friend?"Andy asked. "Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"That's what she said."

"Joe!" He smacked him with the notebook again, and I chuckled. As much as I still didn't trust them, I did miss our friendship.

"Yeah, sort of," I started. "Mr. Wentz said he'd play bass for us if we really needed someone to."

They shared a look of suspicion. "I mean, he's our teacher-"

"So?" I yelled, a little too defensively.

Joe shrugged. "I mean, it's a little weird."

"He's the only bassist I know of. Take it or leave it."

"Wow, someone had sassyflakes for breakfast."

"Joe-"

"Fine." He said. "Let him know tomorrow he can play with us. But  _just_  this one time."

"Do I get a say in this-"

"No." I cut him off.

Andy took a step closer, as if he was suspicious of me. "Why are you so defensive of him?"

"I, uh," I stuttered, intimidated by the guy who spoke like a butterfly. "He- uh."

He chuckled, patting my shoulder. "I'm just messing with you, 'Trick. C'mon, let's go play this song of yours."


	11. It's Our Time Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost a friend last night to suicide. I want everyone here to know that even if you don't feel like it, someone out there cares about you. I care about you. Don't be afraid to ask for help. My inbox will always be open. If you're not comfortable with talking to me, below is a link to a list of suicide hotline around the world. Remember, you're stronger than you think you are <3
> 
> http://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~  _  
_

_"Love exists in powder, love exists in pills. We are all addicts." -Gray, Pete Wentz_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

I let the sheet of paper fall from my fingertips into the basket just as the bell rang. I let out a sigh of relief.  _I did it._

I had actually completed every poem required for this project, on time. I had basically scored myself an A for the quarter. The effort I put into this class sort of inspired me to actually care in my other classes, too. I flipped everything around, and it's looking like I can actually manage to finish the year with decent grades.

And it was all thanks to Pete.

I sat down at my desk as soon as he walked in the door. "Alright, class," he announced as he scooped the papers out of the basket, "you're officially done with your project for the quarter!"

There was a small amount of rejoicing heard. "So, there's not much left for you to do for the rest of the marking period. I might make you read some actual poems or something, I don't know. But for now," He shook the papers, "I'm going to read these  _beautiful_  pieces of literature." I couldn't tell if he was serious or sarcastic.

"I've identified all of you except for two. Students fifty-six and fifty-seven, oddly enough. The two people left are actually in this class, so I'll get working on that. Just look busy in case someone walks in." I felt my face get red as he looked right at me, winked, and the walked to his desk directly in front of mine. And he winked again.

 _Stop it,_ I mouthed to him. He just chuckled before opening something on his computer.

I purposefully avoided looking up at his face for the rest of the period, afraid of him continuing to make sexual faces and causing me to have a  _problem._ Instead, I pulled out my stats review book and began filling my brain with knowledge that I'll never use again in my life. I ended up getting so focused on pointless math that I got tunnel vision and didn't notice any of my surroundings. I was apparently the last person in the class to realize that Mr. Wentz was on the verge of tears.

"Mr. Wentz, are you okay?" A girl next to me asked.

"It's fine, Jasmine." He cut the girl off. "Sorry, I just-" I looked up at him and he immediately made eye contact with me, causing him to do one of those laughs that just makes you cry more. "I'm fine. It's just this one poem. Carry on."

My heart sank.  _Was it really_ my  _poem that made him like this? It couldn't have, it wasn't nearly as dark as some of the other poems I've submitted._

He was on my mind the entirety of the remaining period. I would glance up at him every so often, and his head would snap away as if he was already staring at me. I couldn't focus on my statistics anymore. I was becoming jittery for no reason. My hands grew clammy and cold, and I was about to fall off the edge of my seat. I wanted to be relieved of this torturous hour of having to just think about him. He was right in front of me, yet I couldn't reach him. He was so close but so far away. I wanted to hug him when I saw him cry, I wanted nothing more than to just be able to be his friend whenever I wanted.

Well, nothing other than wanting to be more than just friends.

With only a few minutes remaining in the class, he got up from his desk and made his way to the front of the board. "Alright," he had to clear his voice several times before speaking as if the words were just completely trapped in his throat. "So, I've identified the last two students. Fifty-six is Elliot, and fifty-seven is Patrick?"

We both nodded our heads and he smiled. He turned around and wrote our numbers next to our names before crossing them off the board. "Great work. The two of you, they were great poems. Very hard to figure you guys out."

The bell rang and he called after the students rushing out the door. "Oh, and don't forget to sign up for the day of silence! It's tomorrow!" He trailed off and sighed in defeat, as the last person had left before he had even finished his sentence.

I chuckled and made my way over to him before sitting on his desk, not bothering to bring the spare chair over. "Took you long enough to figure me out." 

He looked up at me with an expression on his face that I couldn't quite figure out. His eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. He blinked and it went away, just light that. "Uh, yeah- I just-"

I laughed.  _Pete Wentz, the cocky, sex driven human God, was nervous around me._ "Cat got your tongue, Wentz?"

"N-no." He said. "And you can't call me by my last name.  _I_ do that to  _you_."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really,  _Wentz?"_ His face was beginning to turn red. "Geez, I'm only kidding."

"O-oh."

"Are you okay?" I said after a long silence. "You're not being you. What's up?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. What's wrong?"

"I said-"

"Pete, you can-"

"I said nothing!" He yelled, pushing his chair away from me. "God, you're just some stupid kid, why do you care about me so much?"

I bit my lip and looked down at my dangling feet, lowering my voice. "Because, y-you're my best friend."

He sighed and grabbed his head and his hands. "God, I-I can't believe this is happening!"

"That what's happening?"

"God! Nothing!" He groaned and collapsed in on himself, breathing heavily. He sighed and looked up, resting his knees on his hands and pointing at me. "You."

"Wha-"

"Do you know why it took so long to figure you out? Because I didn't  _want_ to. I didn't want to have to put a face to the kid writing  _Golden_ and  _What a Catch, Donnie._ I didn't want to have to put a face to the kid writing these beautiful songs that showed how completely broken he was inside. I've been thinking it was you this whole time, but I didn't want it to be. You've been getting better, at least on the outside. You've been happy, and I didn't want to think that there was still all this darkness beneath the surface."

I played with my thumbs. "It- I have been. Slowly. But it's still there. The happy events and good times don't make it go away. It just distracts me."

He nodded. "I know. I know exactly what you're feeling, and it's all completely valid. I'm glad you're getting better- I just hate to see you like this."

"I-Is that why you were crying?"

He bit his lip, ashamed. "It sounds kind of stupid, I know. But I've been praying that those poems weren't yours. But as soon as I read your last poem, I just  _knew_ it was you. And I had been right all along, and there was still this evil inside of you that you don't deserve."

I inhaled sharply.  _So I was the reason that he was hurting._ "H-How'd you know it was me, exactly?"

He held up a finger, signaling me to wait, as he fished around his desk for a piece of paper. He found what he was looking for, grabbed a highlighter, and began highlighting things before giving it to me. "Everything I've highlighted are things that I've said to you. Some of them several times."

_I always fall from your window to the pitch black streets_

_I'd do it all again_

_I think you're my best friend_

_I'll be yours_

_When it rains, it pours_

_Empty your sadness like you're dumping your purse on my bedroom floor_

"All of them except the purse one, though." He said. "I think I actually said bag or backpack or something else like that."

I smiled softly. "I didn't think you'd actually remember all of those things."

He chuckled. "Are you kidding? Of course I've remembered all of those. I remember most of the conversations we had. A-and that's part of the other reason I was crying."

I looked up, confused. "What?"

"It's just-" He sighed. "I can't believe I actually mean that much to you."

I got down from his desk and hugged him. He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me into his lap so that I was snuggled into his chest.

"You mean the world to me."

\-----------------

"I just don't think I'm that thrilled about my English teacher knowing where I live," Joe said. We were in his garage again, waiting for Pete to come to rehearsal.

Andy rolled his eyes. "Of  _course_ he knows where you live, you idiot. He works for the school, he could probably look it up whenever he feels like it."

"Yeah, but he wouldn't. He's not a perv like you." I said.

He groaned. "Okay, I didn't know she was 13! I was drunk and she was wearing a lot of makeup!"

"Still doesn't warrant you to hit on her." Andy spat.

"Oh shut up, you're just being jealous."

"Wow, you guys are like an old married couple," I said, and they just looked at me. "What? If Joe wasn't straight as a pole, and if Andy didn't love working out more than he could love a human, then I would totally think that you two were fucking."

Joe shook his head. "Yeah no. I don't want to put my dick in someone's crap hole."

"Hey, who said that you'd be topping?"

I nodded. "He's right. With all that working out, he'd be  _dominating._ I mean, just think about all the cardio he does."

Joe groaned. "Okay, whatever. I don't want  _someone else's_ dick in  _my_ crap hole."

I shrugged. "You straight people don't know what you're missing out on."

Joe opened his mouth to say something witty in return, but the doorbell cut him off. "Here we go."

He left and Andy immediately grabbed my arm. "Hey dude, what the hell?"

"You're really good friends with Mr. Wentz?" He asked.

"Uh, y-yeah," I stuttered, intimidated by him.

"Just be careful, okay?"

"What?"

He sighed. "I've been seeing the way he's been staring at you during those after school meetings. And by the way you look back at him, I can tell you feel the same. I don't want to know what's going on in his room during lunch."

I pulled my arm away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You guys would be cute together." He smiled and Joe and Pete walked in. "Just be careful, okay?"

I nodded and he walked over to the drum set, while Pete walked over to me. "Hey, Stump!" He ruffled my hair and Andy winked. "What do you got for us?"

I rolled my eyes. "You call yourself an English major with that grammar?"

"Yeah, I do."

I rolled my eyes again. "Nerd."

"Actually, a nerd would be using proper-"

"Geez, I can't take this flirting." Joe interrupted.

"Excuse you, this is an A to B conversation." I gestured between Pete and I. "You can C your way out."

Andy whistled. "Sasstrick strikes again."

"Whatever," I mumbled and grabbed some paper from my backpack. "I'm basically done with the song, you can tweak it however you'd like but yeah."

We sat in different corners of the garage, figuring out the music on our own. I had written the damn thing, so I was more so sitting in my own train of thoughts than trying to read my handwriting. I found myself staring at Pete the entire time. I felt somewhat like a stalker every time he'd look up and catch me. I'd turn away and blush while he smirked. If Joe and Andy weren't in this garage, I didn't know what I would do.

I resisted the urge to move my legs. They were itching to just make me get up and run and fling myself into his arms. I glanced over at him again. His eyebrows were furrowed in frustration, his lips pursed. He ran a hand through his hair, and I wanted those to be  _my_ fingers. Oh, how I would give  _anything_ to kiss those lips and run my fingers through his hair.

_"He's about to give out the roses!" He yelled. "Shut up!"_

_"Make me." He turned his head so that he was looking me in the eyes. We both glanced down as one of his hands grabbed mine and the other wrapped around my waist. My breathing hitched as our eyes locked. They gently fluttered shut as his face grew closer to mine. My hands slid around the back of his neck. It was like nothing else mattered. I couldn't hear the Tv in the background. Everything seemed miles away. It was just the two of us._

_And just as our lips were about to touch, the doorbell rang, causing us the break apart._

That scene replayed over and over again in my head, day and night. Some days, I'd sit there groaning about how  _stupid_ I was for not just kissing him, for waiting for so long. I fucked up, and that was probably the closest I'd ever get to actually being with him.

And some days, I'd imagine what would've happened if the doorbell didn't ring. Would he have kissed me? Would I have kissed him? Would we just kiss, or  _kiss?_ Would we go further? Would we stop? 

Would we pull away, and regret everything that we'd done? Or would we continue, craving more, letting all of the tension we've felt towards each other just melt away into love and lust?

"Patrick!" Joe yelled in my face, and I snapped out of it. "Are you okay?'

I cleared my throat. "U-uh yeah. Just t-thinking, kinda zoned out there."

"Yeah, we know," he said. "C'mon, we're ready to play your song."

I nodded. "Oh, okay."

I went to get up myself, but Pete ran over and stuck out a hand. I grabbed it, and my heart was beating out of its chest as he helped me up. He pulled too hard and I stumbled, falling into his arms.

"Hey, easy there tiger." He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Let's save that for later."

He pulled away and my face must've been extremely red, as he burst out laughing. "Oh c'mon, I'm only joking."

I just shook my head and smiled as I got my guitar and walked to the mic stand. "Alright, this is going to be awful the first time through."

"Stump, are you really doubting my awesome bass skills?" Pete teased, and I looked over.

"Yes."

"Wait wha-"

Joe cut him off as he began playing. I was right, it was absolutely awful the first time. As soon as I started singing, Pete started messing up.  _A lot._ Especially during the bridge, when I started singing higher. We took a break, and I went over to him.

"Hey, you okay? You're being weird like you were before."

"Y-yeah," he replied, shaking. "I'm fine, just, yeah."

I shrugged. "If you say so."

I went back and we started playing again with Pete calmed down.

And I still felt his eyes on me the entire time.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 


	12. Stay Thirsty Like Before

_"I guess that's the point of it all. No one knows for certain how much impact they have on the lives of other people." -Thirteen Reasons Why, Jay Asher_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

"Hey, Stump!"

I walked into school and was immediately greeted by Pete, who was sitting next to Mr. Carver giving out signs for the Day of Silence. "Hey."

"You signed up, right?" He asked, and I nodded. "Great." He handed me a piece of paper attached to a rainbow string.

"Wow,  _very_ fancy signs. Who'd you hire, a seven year old?" I smirked.

Mr. Carver laughed from beside Pete. "Yeah, and he's sitting right here next to me."

"I came out to have a good time, and honestly, I'm feeling  _so_ attacked right now." Pete crossed his arms and sat back in his seat.

Mr. Carver shook his head. "Nevermind him, he hasn't had his morning coffee yet. But yeah, the Day of Silence starts when the first bell rings. And you're not allowed to write or text to communicate, either!"

Pete sat back up in his chair and hit his hands on the table "What?"

I gave him a look that said  _really?_ "Don't you run this club, P-Mr. Wentz? I thought you knew  _everything?_ "

He shrugged. "I thought I did, but I guess I'm just the lonely sidekick." He shot a nasty glance at Mr. Carver, who was talking to another student.

I giggled. I, an almost grown man,  _giggled_  because of Pete Fucking Wentz.

"See you fourth period?"

I nodded, placing the sign around my neck. "Bye, Pete."

\-----------

This Day of Silence was fine, until fourth period. Until Pete.

I walked into the room and the only thing written on the board was  _Study Hall._ He was sitting at his desk, grading something. I made my way to my seat and studied the whole period.

Which would've been fine, if it weren't for Pete and I staring at each other the whole time.

And it was killing me.

And the same thing continued during lunch. 

At this point in our relationship, I've stopped sitting beside him and have permanently resided on his desk, directly in front of him. Which allowed for a lot more flirting. We were both used to it, but since neither of us were allowed to talk, that kind of made it hard.

I spent most of lunch awkwardly pushing my food around my plate. It reminded me of when I first began eating lunch in his room and I would do the same thing. There was even tension in the air that present when a month ago. But this time, it was a different kind of tension. 

I would look up to catch him staring at me, and he'd turn slightly red and quickly turn away. I would watch him with my mouth agape. He was just so  _perfect,_  and I would do anything to just be  _his._

And then he would look back up at me to find me still looking. I would bury my head in my plate again, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.

And I would look up, he would look away, and the two of us would continue to fo this back and forth. It was driving the two of us madly insane. 

Eventually, when I looked up at him, he locked eye contact with me. Neither of us looked away. I stared at him, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

Until he broke the silence.  

He slammed his fists on the desk in frustration, causing me to jump.   

"I can't do this." He said.

He stormed off, causing my heart to sink. He was leaving the room, leaving  _me._  But instead of walking out the door, he slammed it shut, locked it, and proceeded to storm back over to the desk. He didn't stop at his chair.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked, set on edge by his outburst, forgetting I wasn't supposed to be talking.

He didn't reply. He reached out and grabbed my jaw with his hands, crashing his lips into mine.

And I mean  _crashed._

I dropped whatever I was holding and grabbed his tie, pulling him into me. He stumbled between my legs, causing his body to collide against mine. He dropped one hand so it was supporting my lower back as he leaned over me. Our lips moved in sync, his teeth grazing my lips, our tongues colliding.

It was everything I imagined and more. Every move he made caused my stomach to turn over. It was rough. It was passionate. It was filled with angst and lust. His lips were chapped and tasted like vanilla and coffee. Like  _him._

I couldn't get enough of him. My hands tangled themselves in the back of his hair. He leaned further, causing me to be completely laying on my back. He climbed over me, his forearms on either side of my head. His lips left mine, causing me to gasp for air. Instead of returning, they gently grazed my ear, and made their way to my neck, just below my jaw.

He knew what he was doing. He  _definitely_ knew what he was doing, causing me to let out a moan. I immediately shut my mouth, embarrassed from the sound that left my lips.

He moved back up my neck, his lips millimeters from my skin, hovering over my ear, teasing me."You like that, don't you?" He breathed.

I nodded, the words caught in my throat.

"Say it." He teased. "Say it, Stump."

"Y-yes." I breathed.

His lips were on mine again just like that. His hands trailed down my body, causing me to shiver. "You. Are. Mine. Stump." He breathed between kisses. " _Mine._ "

We continued for the remainder of lunch. When the bell finally rang, we pulled away, gasping for air. He rested his head on my chest for a moment before getting off of me and helping me off the desk. "So much for a day of silence."

I shrugged. "I mean, it was gay, so I don't think it counts."

He chuckled before placing a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me away. "See ya, Stump."

\-----------

I was lingering in the halls after the final bell rang. I had been pulled into the bathroom by Jake and his friends again, causing me to miss my bus. I didn't have any other way to get home. It would take me over an hour to walk home, and I didn't have any change for the city bus.

I sighed and opened my locker. I looked in the mirror, praying I wasn't getting a black eye. I groaned when I saw the skin underneath it was slowly starting to swell. I slammed it shut and stormed down the hall.

My English teacher nearly fucked me over his desk, and if anyone found out we could both get in serious trouble. Jake and his friends were still terrorizing me, and the bruises weren't leaving my body. I had no way to get home. My phone was dead. I had no money. Today was going  _great._

I felt someone grab my arm and yank me into a closet.  _Not again._ I winced when the grip tightened on my injured arm. They threw me near the wall and slammed the door shut, locking it. I braced myself for the blow. They turned on the light and spun around.

"P-Pete?"

He slapped his forehead when he realized I was shaking. "I'm so sorry, I'm a fucking idiot." He crouched down to where I had fallen on the floor and helped me up. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

I nodded. "So, why did you pull me into this strategically placed utility closet?"

"About what happened today," He sighed. "Patrick, you can't tell anyone."

"O-"

"You can't." He begged. " _Please._ "

"I-I know."

"It's just, I'm  _scared,_ Patrick. I'm never scared. I haven't been this scared since I was in high school. I can lose my job. I  _will_  lose my job if anyone finds out. I can go to jail. I will get in  _so_ much trouble. If anyone finds out, my life, my entire career will be over."

I looked down at my feet, feeling guilty. All of this would happen because of  _me._ I could ruin his entire life. And seeing you I mess everything up, I probably would. "I get it."

He gripped his hair, trying to pull it out. "It's not every day that you find yourself falling in love with a student. I just, I'm  _so fucked._ "

"I get it, Pete," I said. I didn't want to hear any more of it. "I get it, I'm ruining your life. I'll just leave— transfer to another school. You won't have to deal with me again. You-"

He grabbed me by the waist and crashed his lips onto mine for the second time today. It ended abruptly, as he pulled away and cupped my face with his hands, his lips still considerably close to mine. "No." He said sternly, looking directly in my eyes. He was almost pleading with me. "Do  _not_ leave me. You can't. I don't care about how much trouble I can get in. I'm willing to ignore the risks. You are worth the risk. You are absolutely, truly,  _really_ worth the risk. You are so worth it."

I didn't say anything. I stood there, stunned. He pressed his forehead to mine, causing my stomach to go into a frenzy. We stayed there, staring into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever. It couldn't have been more than two minutes, but it was long enough to drive me insane.

His Hand left my waist and moved up to my face. His thumb lightly grazed under my eye, where the bruise was forming. "Jake?"

I nodded, and he shook his head in response.

"You can't just let them walk over you like that." He said.

I bit my lip. "It's not something I can just control. If I told him to stop, he'd just laugh and continue beating the shit out of me."

"There's a way to make this stop. I can help you-"

I laughed, and he stopped, confused. "Sorry, it's just that this sounds like exactly what you said when you first met me a month ago."

He smirked. "I remember that. I thought you hated me."

"I did."

"Wha-"

"Oh, don't take it personally." I scoffed. "I hated everyone."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Wow, really? I had no idea. You came across as  _such_ a social butterfly."

I groaned. "Fuck you."

"That's what you're here for." He laughed, and my eyes widened. "Oh lighten up, Stump. It was a joke."

"I-I know, but still-"

"Go home, Stump." He said, and I just kind of looked at my feet. "Wait, you missed your bus, didn't you?" He asked.

I continued to stare at the ground, ashamed, and nodded. "Yeah."

He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

I giggled and pushed his chest. " _You're_  the idiot, you idiot."

"Ouch. Hurtful. Now I'm not going to offer you a ride home." He teased.

"Yes, you are."

"Fine." He leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Meet me at the back sidewalk in five minutes." 

He unlocked the door and left, leaving me alone in the closet. I shook my head, trying to shake off the sense of worry he left behind on me. 

One minute, he was completely serious with me. The next, he was joking with me. Then, he was just my teacher. And the next minute, he was making out with me.

And he left me so damn confused. 


	13. The Kids Aren't Alright

  
  
_"Don't you know that the kids aren't alright?" -The Kids Aren't Alright, Fall Out Boy_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

I stared at the water marks on my jeans. I was alone in an empty classroom, which we were assigned as a sort of backstage room. I was sitting on top of a desk, legs swinging back and forth, tears falling from my eyes like molasses and staining my jeans.

I stared at my hands that were gripping the edge of the desk on either side of my thighs. I had clenched my hands in an attempt to stop them from shaking, and my knuckles were turning a pasty white. 

We were supposed to go perform at the poetry slam in half an hour. It had already started, and Joe and Andy were watching other people from the audience. Pete was doing the same. And I was alone, crying and shaking

I would have to go up on stage in front of the hundreds of people who wanted me dead. How was I supposed to just do that? How was I, the person who won't even speak a word to a store cashier, supposed to go and sing my lungs out in front of the whole school?

I heard footsteps as someone entered the room. I glanced up, taking a quick look to see that it was Pete, before staring at my feet again. He had already noticed I was crying. As he strolled over, I wanted to do nothing more than curl into a ball and die.

He stopped in front of me. He placed his hands on top of mine, causing my grip to relax as he held my hands. "You're going to be okay," He said. I looked up and met his eyes.

"How?" I asked. "How am I just supposed to go up there and stare at the faces of everyone who wants me dead? Am I just supposed to forget about everything that has happened?"

He shook his head. "Just focus on the music, not the people." He sighed when I didn't respond or look at him. "You're nearsighted, right?"

"Uh- yeah?" I said, confused. He let go of my hands and reached up to my face, taking off my glasses and putting them next to me. "There. Now you can't see their faces."

I nodded, smiling a little. "That helps. A lot."

"Really?"

"Really." I laughed, before shaking my head.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at me. "What?"

"I just can't  _not_ be happy around you. I don't understand it."

"Is it because I'm fabulous?" He said, twirling, causing me to burst out laughing, rolling my eyes.

"Totally." There were footsteps from down the hall, and Pete jumped back and sat on a desk that was several away from me. One of the other English teachers, Ms. Heymann, popped her head in the door.

"Just a reminder that you go on in twenty minutes. I would suggest doing whatever musicians do before they make noise." She turned on her heel and was gone before we could even acknowledge her.

"That woman scares me shitless I swear to God," Pete said, and I laughed. Joe and Andy came in the room, causing us to drop our conversation and pretend that we had no relationship beyond a teacher and his student.

With the exception of Andy, who drummed away on a pad, we grabbed our instruments from the corner of the room and took them out of our cases. We took turns plugging them into the singular amp and tuning, before warming up ampless on our own. The entire time, my hands were shaking so hard that I could barely fret the strings.

Our warm-ups were near silent and awkward. Eventually, Joe broke the silence. "Do you want me to take your instruments and plug them in and stuff? The group before us is just about to go on."

I glanced up at the clock, not realizing how fast fifteen minutes had gone by. "Oh, shit, yeah. Good idea." Pete and I handed him and Andy our guitars, and the four of us made our way backstage, Pete and I lagging behind in silence.

I felt Pete staring at me the entire time. Every time I looked at him, he turned away. When we were out of earshot of Joe and Andy, he finally spoke.

"What's that on your arm?" I felt my stomach drop at his words and I stopped dead in my tracks. I tried to casually yank my left sleeve over my wrist.

"Uh, nothing. I-It's nothing. I swear." I stuttered, and he took a step towards me. I took a step back, pushing myself against a wall.

"Patrick," he said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Show me your arm."

"No." I raised my voice slightly. He reached for my sleeve, and I yanked my arm away from him. He reached again, and I stepped away again. Soon we were in a constant battle of him grabbing and nearly clawing at my sleeve to see what was under, while I was having a near panic attack.

"Pete,  _stop._ "

"Just show me your fucking arm!' He grabbed my hand and forcefully shoved my sleeve up, exposing almost a dozen butterflies scattered up and down my arm, littering my skin.

"I-I'm sorry I just saw the red and-"

"It's fine. It's whatever." I cut him off, and an awkward silence followed.

He cleared his throat. "Is it helping? The butterflies?"

I shrugged. "I guess. Not really. Yes, I don't know!" I groaned and shoved my face into my hands. "I just want to be normal and not think about killing myself at least every other day."

"Shh, it's okay," he cooed. He glanced up and down the hallway and pulled us into an empty room, closing the door behind him. He enveloped my now shaking body into a hug, not saying anything.

"T-they're named after you," I said. He pulled away and just looked at me, his mouth agape. "I-I haven't killed any yet. Sometimes they do nothing but remind me how I'm this piece of shit who needs help from other people because I can't deal with my own problems. But at the same time, I look at them and think of you, and it reminds me that you actually care about me. I forget that some people care a lot."

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but shook his head as if he were getting rid of the thought. "So, they're kind of helping?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

"If it doesn't help you, you don't have to do this. It was just an idea-"

"No, it's okay." I cut him off.

"It's clearly not okay if you nearly started crying because of it!" He raised his voice.

"Look, I don't need this stress right now. We're playing in five minutes, I can't deal with this." I turned around and reached for the door.

He grabbed my arm. "Patrick, please-"

"Goodbye." I shook my arm out of his grip and left him behind. I ran down the hall, ignoring his calls from behind me.

I finally met up with Andy and Joe backstage. "Patrick, finally! We have like thirty seconds, where's Pete?" Joe asked. As if on cue, Pete came running up behind me. Andy gave me a look and I just shook my head. "Well, here's your guitars. They're plugged in and working, and Patrick, your mic is set up too."

I nodded. "Thanks."

I heard Mr. Carver's voice boom throughout the auditorium, announcing us.

"You guys ready?" Joe asked.

I shrugged. Andy smiled, and Pete stared at the ground. This was going to be  _wonderful._ Joe and Andy began walking out, and before I could join them, Pete grabbed my hand.

"I'm sorry."

I shrugged off his hand and walked on stage. I wanted to say something to him, but I just couldn't bring myself to it. I stopped at the microphone and froze. I could feel my pulse in my neck and the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I looked over at Joe—I couldn't bear to look at Pete at the moment—and he gave me a reassuring thumbs up.

"Just a quick disclaimer," Pete said into his mic, "I'm not in any way affiliated with this act. I'm just a stand-in bass player for them. I don't exist. Carry on." I couldn't help but crack a smile.

I scanned the crowd, thankful that Pete had taken off my glasses. I couldn't see beyond the first row, which did help, but I was still visibly shaking. I heard Andy count off and I began playing.  _Don't mess up. Don't mess up. Don't mess up._

I closed my eyes and inhaled, feeling my stomach drop. I began singing.

_"Stuck in the jet wash..."_

I forgot about the crowd. I forgot about the fact that I was being judged on this. I blocked all of that out of my mind and thought about the same things I did when I was writing this poem. About all of the things that Pete had said to me. About all of the times that he was the only one who cared— the only one who bothered to stick a hand out to help me out of the seemingly bottomless pit that I was in.

_"I'll always fall from your window to the pitch black streets."_

He actually, genuinely cares. He seems to be the only one who does. He's willing to do everything to help me, even if it means spiraling into a dark, morose world with me.

_"And in the end, I'd do it all again._

_I think you're my best friend_

_Don't you know that the kids aren't al-, kids aren't alright"_

He's helping me. Yes, I still have my breakdowns. yes, need to stop snapping at him. I want to run over to him right now and apologize to him over and over. I've almost forgotten that the entire school's eyes were on me. Pete is making me forget all of that. Pete is beginning to teach me that I don't have to be alright all of the time. It's okay to get down and not meet the world's expectations of perfection.

_"I'll be yours_

_When it rains it pours_

_Stay thirsty like before_

_Don't you know that the kids aren't al-, kids aren't alright"_

He means the world to me.

\-----

"In third place, with her poem  _Inked,_ we have Sarah Lapinski!"

My knee was bouncing up and down in my chair rapidly. Andy reached over and placed his hand on it. "Dude, relax."

"What if we have to go up there? I was crying over this before, I don't want to have a panic attack in front of the whole school!"

Joe laughed. "Patrick, you just sang a three-minute song. I think you can handle shaking Carver's hand for a second."

I sighed. "I guess."

Carver cleared his throat as he picked up another sheet from the judge's table. "In second place, with their performance of  _The Kids Aren't Alright,_ Joseph Trohman, Patrick Stump, and Andrew Hurley!"

The three of us stood up, me still shaking. Andy gently placed his hand on my shoulder as he guided me towards the aisle. I barely remember going up to the stage.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Andy asked. I shrugged, turning the fifty dollar visa gift card over and over in my hand.

"Here, one of you can have this, I really don't need it." I held it out.

"Oh shut up Patrick, it was your poem." Joe grabbed the gift card out of my hand and put it in my bag. I sighed, knowing that I wasn't going to win this argument, but still feeling like I didn't deserve it.

"And in first place, with their performance of  _Car Radio,_ Tyler Joseph and Joshua Dun!"

I clapped and watched as they got their award and were congratulated. "And that concludes our poetry slam. We will be dismissing from here. So you are free to go but-" He trailed off as the massive herd of students formed something that resembled a mosh pit. "Whatever. Have a nice day."

I was about to leave when I saw Pete backstage. I made sure no one as watching before running after him. He went into the hallway and I followed him to his room. I gently knocked on the door. "Pete?"

He looked up from his desk and glared at me, motioning for me to shut the door. I did so and stood there awkwardly. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry-"

"It's not okay." He snapped.

"I know it's not. I-I'm sorry for before. For everything. You've done nothing but try to help me and I'm always a dick to you. I take what you do for granted and don't even realize it. I get stubborn and selfish and you don't deserve it. You don't deserve that at all. You mean the world to me and I don't act like it and, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For all of it."

He didn't say anything for a moment. I nervously shifted my weight from one foot to another. "C'mere."

I cautiously made my way over to his desk. I didn't know what to expect.

He just kissed me.

"Apology accepted."

 


	14. I Still Feel That Rush in My Veins

_"I've always believed in God. I'm just not so sure He believes in me." -Gray, Pete Wentz_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

I stared at the ground that was a somewhat thirty feet below me. The first warm day of the year had finally come, and all the snow that once sat in ten-foot snowbanks along the sides of the roads was gone. The dead grass was visible once again and would soon start thriving. There were even bits of dandelions and violets poking out of the muddy earth every here and there. The world was starting to become beautiful again.

The weather had been great for the past few days. The sun had been constantly shining. Temperatures were rising into the 60s, and everyone was more than happy to shed their winter coats. But today was different.

The vibrant sun was now hidden behind dull clouds. The sky was no longer blue, but an ominous, dark gray. There was a storm, lurking, brewing, somewhere off in the distance, just threatening to strike.

I sighed and took a step away from the edge of the roof.  _Thirty feet probably wouldn't kill me, anyway. I'd just get a nice hospital visit._  I sat back down, pressing my back to the barrier that surrounded the top of the school. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hung my head between them. I tried to squeeze these thoughts out of my head. These thoughts of wanting to harm myself, for no apparent reason, would just come flooding into my mind. _You don't want to die. Pete doesn't want you to die. You don't want to die._

But even with my constant reminders, I just couldn't help myself. I would look at a bridge or building, and just think about jumping. My brain would just automatically think  _what if you just threw yourself off of there?_

If you really thought about it, it wasn't that hard to do. Just one simple jump. Just one dozen pills. Just one pull of a trigger. Just one thing to end everything.

 _Stop._  I pulled out my phone.

_11:09 am_

_5 missed texts_

I came up here right after second period. At this point, I had been up on the roof, contemplating the meaning of life, for well over two hours. I already missed all of English and a good portion of lunch, too.

**_From: Pete_ **

_Good morning :))_

**_From: Joe_ **

_Hey man, we still on for movies friday night?_

**_From: Pete_ **

_Skipping class? Shame on you. Detention ;)_

**_From: Pete_ **

_Hey, are you okay? I saw you here this morning. Is everything alright?_

**_From: Pete_ **

_Can you please just text me that so I know you're alive? Please be okay. Where are you?_

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to spill everything, to pour my heart and soul out in one text. But instead my fingers hovered above the screen and I couldn't think of anything. I wanted to say everything but could say nothing. So I just sent one word, hoping he'd get the message.

**_To: Pete_ **

_roof_

I hit send before I could regret it. I didn't necessarily  _want_ him to come up here and join me, but I knew that it was what I  _needed._ Within minutes, I heard the door to my left fling itself open. From the noise, I wouldn't have been surprised if it flew off its hinges. Even so, I didn't even flinch. I didn't even react when Pete wrapped his arms around me so hard that I almost couldn't breathe.

"You s-scared me," he croaked, and guilt instantly flooded through me. I didn't even think about how he must've felt. For him to not hear from me all day, and then to know I was on the roof, Dear God-

"I'm sorry." I cried. He sat down, and I turned around so I was facing him. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think—"

"It's okay." He cut me off. "I'm okay as long as you're okay."

I sighed.  _I'm not completely okay._ I found myself in the same situation as before. I wanted to tell him everything, yet I couldn't find the words to do so. He reached out his hand and gently held mine in his. Eventually, my vocal cords found themselves working again. "I'm sorry for doing this to you."

He shook his head. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because you're constantly running around trying to protect me. You do all this shit and half the time I don't even appreciate it and you don't deserve to be treated the way I treat you."

"Oh, shut  _up._ " He said. "How many times have I told you that you're worth it? You are absolutely worth every single risk out there. My feelings, my job, I'd put everything on the line for you. So stop worrying about me."

I hung my head, partially in guilt, but also to hide a slight smile on my face. No one has ever cared for me like this before. "Sorry."

"Jesus—" he groaned, but with a hint of humor in his voice. "Stop apologizing! We've had this conversation, I thought I told you to stop saying sorry."

I laughed, remembering. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe you also told me to call you Daddy."

He groaned again. "No, I specifically told you  _not_  to call me Daddy."

"Oh. Sorry,  _Daddy_."

He put up his hands in defeat, standing up. "That's it. I quit. The sass is too strong."

I stood up to be at his level. "Quitters never win." I expected him to say something witty in response, but he just stared at me as if he realized something, as if he suddenly figured out the meaning to life as we know it. "What?"

"It's a defense mechanism." He mumbled.

I took a step closer to him. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head. "I should be the one asking that. And you're clearly not okay."

"H-how-"

"It's a defense mechanism. Your sass." He said, piecing things together as he spoke. "Whenever you're intimidated, you start sassing people. To try to make everything seem okay. To ease the tension. Comedic relief. Your sassiest, most sarcastic moments always seem to come directly after your saddest ones. The days you crack the most jokes are the days where you want to disappear. The days where you smile the most are the days that you've shed the most tears. Your laughs hide more pain than you think."

"I-" I tried to defend myself, but he cut me off.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's true. And you didn't even realize it yourself." I didn't say anything, and we both knew that meant that he was right. "Awesome. Now tell me why you've bee skipping class to chill on the roof."

I sighed, shifting my weight from foot to foot. "Just say it." He snapped. "Sorry I didn't mean to snap like that— it's just not every day that your student goes on the fucking roof. It doesn't take a genius to understand why someone would go up there."

I sat back down, sliding my back against the ledge. "I just wanted to escape it all."

He crouched down. "Escape what? Have people been giving you shit again?"

"It's the opposite." I shook my head, and he seemed confused. "Ever since the poetry slam, I feel like I've exposed myself. When I walk in the halls and people stare, it's different. It's as if they can just see right through me. I feel exposed. I feel that everyone knows my name. I want to go back to being invisible."

He nodded. "You came up here to escape the feeling of wanting to escape."

I don't want to see the light of the real world. Everyone can now see me, dead, emerging from the ground. I want to go back to being hidden under the snow. I want to be invisible again.

He didn't say anything. A silence lingered between us, but it was soon broken as the clouds opened up.

The rain came all at once. It didn't start drizzling like usual. There was no gradual build-up of rain. The clouds just cracked open and everything began to spill out at once.

"God is crying," I said, softly. 

He chuckled, eyeing my all black outfit. "I didn't quite pin you as the religious type."

"I guess." I shrugged, "I'm not quite sure if I believe in God. But there's got to be some almighty being somewhere out there. And whoever they are, they hate me. I feel like whatever is up there, God or whatever, just pulls names out of a hat and gives them eternal shit. And my name comes up a lot."

I looked up to see his expression, but I couldn't quite make it out with the water on my glasses. The next thing I knew, his lips were pressed to mine. It was your perfect, passionate kiss in the rain everyone dreams about and writes in fanfiction. 

"C'mon, let's get you inside before you get sick."

\-----------------------------------

"I hope you know that the stuff in my backpack is still soaked," I complained. I was sitting in Pete's room, on the desk in front of his, waiting for everyone else to file in for the after school club meeting.

"Hey, you're the one who decided to hang out up on the roof, not me." He said, and I huffed in annoyance.

"You blaming me for something that was completely my fault is not making my stuff any drier."  He leaned forward and smirked.

"I bet there's something else wetter than your bag." he winked, and it took everything that I had in me to not reach out and slap him.

I wanted to scream, but other people began walking in, so I settled for a whisper yell. "You idiot, I have a dick!"

"I don't believe you." He said. "You show me yours and I'll show you mine."

Almost the entire club was in the room, so I really had to resist the urge to hit him. I was about to respond with something witty and kinky, but several people gasped, catching my attention. We both turned our heads to see what had happened. My draw completely dropped to the floor.

_Jake._

I turned back to Pete. "What the hell is  _he_ doing here?" I hissed, and he only shrugged. He seemed as shocked as I was.

The person who basically turned the whole school against me was in the same room. Did he really have the nerve to join a club like this? This was the type of club to spread awareness about issues and prevent bullying.

He was the type of person this club protected others against. He was the enemy. 

"Alright, well the day of silence was a huge success," Carver said. "It really brought awareness to some of the issues that the LGTBQ+ community has to face. We had over two-thirds of the school take part, which I think is amazing. So kudos to you guys for making this happen."

During all of this, I kept sneaking glances at Jake, trying to read him. Why was he here? Was he here to gain insight, and spread rumors about the people in here? Or was he actually concerned about the well-being of the student body?

I couldn't read him at all. His face was completely blank and stone cold. 

"I think that this campaign really went well, too," Pete said. "I think we should do sh-stuff like this once a month. For the rest of the month, Carver and I would both like to focus on this topic. We can move on to mental health in May. So today, we figured we'd go around the room and just discuss things. Why we've joined this club, what we have to do with the LGBTQ+ community, etc. I'd like all of us to speak at least once." He seemed to stare directly at Jake. He seemed just as curious as to why he was here as I was.

"Who wants to start?" He said. No one replied. "Fine. Carver and I will talk about why we created this club. We both noticed a handful of students who were struggling. Not academically. but socially. Mentally. They needed an escape, and we needed to change something about this school. So we decided to create this club, in order to help all of you. We wanted a place where all of you could feel welcomed, and we could talk about issues that concerned you. And we could do something about it.

"On a more personal level, I'm also involved in the community. I'm bisexual, and I'm very proud of it. I don't think I've told many people at this school about it. So there you go."

Everyone seemed shocked, and I rolled my eyes. Their gaydars were  _so_ bad. Granted, I didn't know he wasn't straight, either. But it probably had to do with that whole thing where I was falling for him and had zero self-confidence. 

"I-I'm also bisexual." Everyone turned around to look at who had spoken. Sarah. "It's why my boyfriend cheated on me. I thought I could trust him. But he thought I was disgusting, and couldn't even stand to be around me long enough to dump me. So he just moved on and ghosted and cheated on me at the same time, if that even makes sense. He sent me pictures of him and the other girl, who was my best friend, too. I was hit pretty hard by it, and it just happened to be when this club started. And that's why I joined. I needed some support."

"Holy fuck." I said. I didn't mean to say it out loud, and everyone turned to gasp at me and my word choice. "That- that's-"

"Terrible." Pete said. He went to say something else, but she cut them off.

"If we could not dwell on it, that'd be great. I just-I wanted to get the weight off my chest.  Let's move on. Please."

I took a deep breath. "Well, I'm gay. Obviously. I didn't want to join this club at first, but Mr. Wentz made me. I'm glad I did— it's helped me way more than I thought that it would've."

No one said anything, just nodded. We continued to go around the room, awkwardly sharing stories with no one responding. Almost everyone spoke, except for one person.

"Jake, what about you?" Pete asked, walking directly over to his desk. "You just joined today. What made you come?" He tried to come across as interested, but you could hear the cynical tone in his voice.

He stirred in his seat. It looked like he wanted to say something, but chose not to. "I- uh, just wanted to see what it was about. After the day of silence and all."

"And?"

"I-I think it's a great program." He seemed very uncomfortable.

Pete took a step closer to his desk, so he was right up against it.  "Anything else? Anything you're going to tell the rest of the school about?"

He shrank into his seat. I couldn't help but smirk. He was starting to feel what  I would feel whenever he was around. "I, uh,"

"What about-"

"That's enough, Wentz." Carver said. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly backed away from the desk. "I think that's enough for today, as well. The rest of you are dismissed."

I walked over to his desk and waited for the last person to walk out the door and close it behind them. "Why the  _fuck_ was he here? Did you ask him to come here?  Did you set him up? Are you  _trying_  to send me back into the hell I was facing before—"

"Shut up!" Pete yelled. "Why the hell would you even  _think_ that? I hate that kid as much as you do, if not even more. He was the one who broke you, do you really think I'm comfortable with letting him in the same room as you?"

I took a deep breath. "Sorry, I just— you were the first person to blame. I shouldn't have said that."

He walked around his desk so he could sit on it next to me. He put his arm around me. "It's fine. I want to explode too. He really has the nerve to show up here, after everything he's done? He's the type of person we're trying to protect others from."

I smirked. "That's exactly what I thought." I paused, letting the silence between us sink in. I wanted to capture this moment forever. I never wanted to leave his side, in the protection of his empty room. "I'm scared."

"Why?" He got off the desk so he could stand in front of me. "Don't be scared. I'm here. I'll protect you, I promise."

I shook my head. "You can only go so far. You're helping me so much. But as soon as I step out of this room, I can easily become his victim again."

"Fine. If he does anything, if he even lays a finger on you, let me know. We'll take it to administration and-"

"It won't work." I cut him off. "It's happened before. In middle school. Not because people found out I was gay, I didn't even know I was gay. But I was chubbier, I guess, and no one really liked me. I ended up having to move to get away from them because administration wouldn't do shit."

"Well, that's not going to happen. I promise you." I looked up at his eyes, and everything inside of me just collapsed.  I started crying. "Shit, no, please don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

I shook my head for what felt like the twelfth time in an hour. "It's fine I just- I'm still really fucking  _scared."_

"It's okay." He rubbed my back. "I won't let them hurt you. I'll do everything I can to protect you. I  _promise."_

I looked back up. "Really?"

"Really."

He leaned in, and his lips were on mine. I pulled him in closer, wrapping my legs around him. I couldn't get enough of him.

I barely heard the door creak open.

I didn't even hear him come into the room.

"Holy shit."


	15. Maybe I Bit Off More Than I Could Chew

_"There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment." - Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

_He leaned in, and his lips were on mine. I pulled him in closer, wrapping my legs around him. I couldn't get enough of him._

_I barely heard the door creak open._

_I didn't even hear him come into the room._

_"Holy shit."_

_\---------------_

_Shit._

Pete shot away from me, flinging my body into his desk. I winced, stumbling, before getting up. I turned to the door, and Mr. Carver was just standing there, an absolute look of shock plastered across his face.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.  _Shit._ I couldn't feel myself breathing.  _Shit._  I couldn't control the shaking of my hands.  _This is it, this is the end. Shit, shit, shit._

"I-It's not what it looks like," Pete stuttered.

Carver took a step inside, closing the door behind him, locking it. "Really? Because it looks pretty fucking bad, Pete."

Pete leaned against the wall, running his hands through his hair. He tilted his head back, releasing the air from his lungs in a shaky breath. "I-I know." He looked like he was going to break down at any second. He swung his arm back and punched the wall. "Fucking  _shit!"_

"You overreacting right now isn't going to help the situation you're in." He said. "I haven't even accused you of anything, and here you are cursing and punching walls. What conclusion do you think I'm going to come to?"

He stayed silent.

My throat was closing up. My eyes were starting to water.  _Shit._ There was no way that we could get away with this. Carver was going to go to administration—or the police, and we were done for. Pete will lose his job. Have his life ruined. And it'll be my fault. All. My. Fault.

"Jason, you can't tell anyone-"

"How am I supposed to just keep this a secret?" He yelled, taking a seat.

Pete stuttered. "I-I can explain."

He sighed. "Let's hear it."

Pete shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, his body trembling. "Patrick and I- we," He trailed off, turning to look at me. I was terrified. "Have a thing. Dating, I guess."

He was silent for a moment, processing everything. "You. And a student?" Pete nodded, and he responded with a groan, his hands gripping his forehead. They ran through his forehead, before returning to each other in front of his face. "I can't believe this." Pete said nothing. "You fucked up, Wentz. You fucked up big time. "

"I know." He breathed. He took a step closer to me, grabbing my hand under the desk, where Carver couldn't be. He tried to calm me down by rubbing small circles with his thumbs, but it didn't work, as his hands were shaking as badly as mine. The two of us probably triggered a small earthquake from shaking so violently.

"You can't tell anyone.  _Please._ I'll do  _anything._ " He begged, desperation dripping from every word.

"You do know I can't promise that, right? Something like this—it's not like high school drama. This isn't water cooler gossip. This is  _illegal._ A secret like this isn't exactly the easiest thing to keep quiet about."

"I know. I know that it's asking so much of you. But please promise that you won't go and run with this.  _Please._ I will do absolutely everything and anything if it means you try your hardest to keep this quiet."

"You do know what could happen, right?"

Pete nodded. "I could lose my job, my reputation-"

"That's not just it, Pete." He took a deep breath. "I don't know the-  _nature,_  of your relationship, but depending on where it goes, you can be tried for rape. Put in jail. Lose everything."

My heart sank. We had been doing this, thing, this whatever it was, for barely even two weeks and we were already caught. Even if he keeps quiet, doesn't say anything, someone else is bound to find out. I'm going to ruin Pete's life.

"Just ask yourself this." Carver said. "Is it worth it?"

He turned his head and locked eyes with me. I hadn't said anything this entire time. Neither of them had even acknowledged my side of what happened. No one even seemed to notice that I was here the entire time, scared to death. I was terrified. Terrified that he was going to blame this all on me and take the easy way out. Maybe he truly didn't feel anything for me, and this was just a big prank that he orchestrated.

He swallowed. "Absolutely. He's worth everything."

"And everything that goes on is completely consensual?" Pete nodded, but he wasn't satisfied with his answer. He turned to stare directly into my eyes, causing my stomach to drop. "I need to hear it from  _him."_ He demanded, pointing at me.

I nodded, the words almost getting caught in my throat. "Y-yes."

He sighed, not saying anything for a while. I was about to burst into tears. I was about to collapse into myself. I wanted myself to break and escape. I wanted to run and run and never look back. I wanted to disappear from the face of the Earth, to become invisible again. I longed to be able to sit in the back of the class, not catching the attention from anyone anymore. I wanted it to be like the beginning of the year, when I was still in the closet, had friends, and was just another face in the crowd. I didn't want to be gay. I didn't want to be falling for my teacher.

Yet I didn't necessarily regret any of it.

"Okay." He said, standing up.

"Okay?"

He nodded. "You guys have something together. Anyone with a functioning brain who saw you two outside of a classroom together would realize it. It's not in my place to tell you who you can and can't be with. But just, be careful, okay?"

"I will. Thank you so-"

He put up his hand. "Don't mention it. This conversation never happened."

"Absolutely."

He went to go walk out of the room, but stopped and turned at the last minute. "Also, I totally ship it. Peterick. Has a nice ring to it."

He closed the door behind him, and Pete went over to lock it. "I should probably lock this thing more often."

"You didn't have to just then, I'll be leaving now."

"Hey," he said. "Leaving so soon?"

I sighed. "Pete, I'm so so sorry. For all of this. It was a mistake."

His eyes went wide. "A, a m-mistake?"

I walked past him. I went to leave, but I couldn't leave him like that. I turned around to face him.

"I didn't realize the consequences that would come with this. I was being a naïve, love-struck teenager. I'll just leave and everything can go back to normal."

I went to walk away, but he grabbed my arm, pulling me back, his nails slightly sinking into my skin. "No."

"Pete-"

"No!" He yelled. "I don't care about the consequences! I care about you! I'm not letting you slip away from me like that. Not that easily."

I started to say something, but just like before, the words got caught in my throat.

"Look, I know your self-esteem isn't exactly all the way up there. But you  _have_  to believe me when I say I care about you. When I say that I will risk everything for you, that includes  _everything._ My job. Jail. Whatever. This isn't just some big joke that I'm pulling on you. This is real."

I flung myself at him. He stumbled back a step before wrapping his arms around me. "And don't even think about apologizing."

I chuckled. "You know me so well."

"That I do," he said, and I could hear the smirk in his words. He kissed the top of my head.  _I needed this. I needed him._

"I'm not going to leave you," I said. We pulled way, and I glanced at the clock.  _3:30._ "Shit."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

I ran to his desk and grabbed my bag. "My mom was going to pick me up fifteen, twenty minutes ago." I spoke as I threw the backpack onto my shoulders.

"Nice one." He nodded. He grabbed my hand when I approached him. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

I nodded. "Tomorrow." He pressed a quick kiss to my lips before I sprinted out the door, hearing him burst out laughing behind me. By the time I got to the car, I was almost breaking a sweat.

"Twenty minutes late. Pretty out of character for you," she said, putting down her phone and starting the engine.

"Sorry, I stayed behind to ask Mr. Wentz about an assignment. I lost track of time." I said, the lie rolling off my tongue.

"That's fine. Totally understandable. You've made a lot of effort to bring your grades up, I'm proud of you."

I smiled. "Thanks, Mom."

"So, where do you want to go tomorrow night for dinner?"

I hit myself on the head. "I can't believe I almost forgot my own birthday."

She laughed. "It's okay sweetie. Some people are just a little slow."

I rolled my eyes. Must everyone in this world be so sassy? "I don't really care where we go."

She groaned. "Come  _on._ Don't play that game with me. Just pick somewhere."

I thought for a minute. "Could we go to that Italian place? We haven't been there in years."

"The one with the really good chicken parm?" I nodded. "Yeah, we really haven't been there in forever."

"Yeah, ever since Dad..." I trailed off.

She nodded, and we spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

\----------------------------

"Good morning class! Before we begin, I'd just like to give a very happy birthday shout out to Patrick!" He walked over to my desk. "How old are you turning again?"

"S-Seventeen."

"Congratulations Patrick. You're now at the age of consent in the state of Illinois!" He exclaimed, placing a hand on my shoulder. The class burst into a fit of immature giggles. "You're now open to a whole new realm of possibilities."

I buried my face in my hands, hiding my blush.

"Still gotta wait another year for all of the states, though. Including California, unfortunately. Have you ever had sex on a California beach? It's  _fantastic."_

I groaned and shrank further into my seat.

"Inappropriate, sorry. Anyways, for today's lesson..."

\--------------------

Pete locked to door after the last student left the room. Before he could even open his mouth, I yelled at him.

"What the  _fuck_ what that?"

He smirked at my clearly pissed off face. "What was what?"

I folded my arms. "That whole conversation at the beginning of class?"

He laughed, strutting over. "I'm sorry, was I putting,  _images_ , in your head?" His smirk was still present, knowing exactly what he had done to me during class.

I shifted my weight and blushed. "N-no. What?"

"You've always been such a terrible liar."He chuckled before kissing me.

I pushed him away. "And you've always been such a dick."

"Well, they do say you are what you eat."

I tried to frown but ended up laughing. "You're disgusting." I tried running away, but he wrapped his arms around my waist, tickling me. I started to kick and flail while tears started forming in the corners of my eyes.

I started punching his chest. "I hate you, you jerk!"

"Oh please, you love me!" He laughed.

"Mm." I couldn't stop laughing. "P-Pete, stop!"

"Fine." He pouted, and let me go. I dropped down to the floor, and he nearly flipped. "Holy fuck, are you okay?"

I groaned. "Well, I just nearly had an asthma attack from laughing and my boyfriend threw me on to the floor. I'm doing just fine, how are you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask for your sass."

"You're dating me," I pointed out. "That's the same thing, honey."

"Two things. Don't call me honey. And get up off that floor."

I pouted and rolled over. "But it's comfy."

"Jesus Christ." He muttered. "Get up, I have to ask you something serious."

"Sirius Black?" I gasped. "The notorious mass murderer?"

I laughed when I looked up to see that he was clearly  _very_ pissed off. "I don't know who fed you sassflakes for breakfast for them, but I really hate them."

I smiled. "That would be my mother. She's a very nice lady."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later," I winked. I had no idea where this side of me came from half the time. It just popped out, shone out from behind the clouds. A random light in a room of darkness. The majority of the time I acted this giddy, it was around Pete. I just couldn't help it.

He sighed, beginning to plead with me. "Just get up off of the damn floor.  _Please."_

"Fine, mom." I got up and sat on the desk directly in front of him. "What's up?"

He took a deep breath, nervous. "So, for your birthday. Can I take you out on a date? Not like having you spend lunch with me or coming over to my house when you're not feeling your best. A proper one. Like dinner and a movie or some cheesy shit like that."

I smiled and bit my lip. "A date date?"

He nodded, smiling back. "A date date. Does Saturday work?"

"I'll see what I can do."


	16. I'd Do It All Again

_Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around every once in a while, you might miss it._   _\- Ferris Bueller, Ferris Bueller's Day Off_

  ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~   _  
_

I darted through the crowds of people in the halls. Trying to find one man out of a cluster of hundreds of high school students was nearly impossible. _Yes,_ please _stop directly in the middle of the hall with a group of ten people. Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?_

I caught sight of the back of his head and quickened my pace, dodging the masses of people. I eventually caught him as he walked over to his vacant lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria. I placed my hand on his shoulder, causing him to spin around. "Hey Andy, can you do me a huge favor?

He nodded. "Sure?"

I lowered my voice. "I need you to cover me."

"Why? Are you going to go rob a bank or something? Jeez, I'd at least want to be the getaway man-"

"Just shut up." I laughed. "I need to go somewhere Saturday night, and I can't tell my mom exactly where. I'm not going to a party or going to do anything illegal, I promise. But I just need to tell her I'm sleeping over at a friend's house."

He nodded, then sat down at the table, motioning for me to sit down next to him. I followed and he said, "yeah, my mom's out of town. That'll work."

"Thank you so so much Andy, I'll-" I went to go stand up, but he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back down.

He looked over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone was listening. "I do have to ask what this is about, though."

I took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "I think you already know."

"Pete?"

I nodded. "Look, Andy, you can't tell anyone."

He sighed. "Patrick-"

"I don't care!" I yelled, causing some people to turn and stare. I lowered my voice, and they returned to whatever they were doing. "You can't tell anyone.  _Please._ I can't- I'll get in so much shit. Pete will get in so much shit. I can't do that to him. Someone else already found out, and Pete just-" I shook my head.

"He was so frustrated, so  _angry._ It was terrifying. I can't let anyone know. Please, it's bad enough that two people know now. You can't tell  _anyone._ "

He pursed his lips. "You do under-"

"Yes, I understand that it's wrong and illegal and gay and fucking disgusting but I just don't care!" I yelled again. "He's worth it."

He was silent for a minute. "Fine, but you have to eat lunch with us for once." As if on cue, Joe walked over to the table.

"Patrick! You haven't dropped off the face of the Earth!" Joe exclaimed, setting down his tray.

"Fuck off," I mumbled, putting my lunch on the table. Taking out my phone, I sent a text to him.

**_To: Pete <3_ **

_Good news and bad news._

_Good: Andy's covering me Saturday so I'm good._

_Bad: He's forcing me to eat lunch with him_

I could see him typing almost immediately after I sent the message.

_**From: Pete <3** _

_Does he know?  
_

I groaned, dreading telling him.

**_To: Pete <3_ **

_Yes. I didn't tell him. He just knew._

I never got a text back.

\--------------------------------------

"Well don't you just look  _dashing."_

I blushed as I slid into the passenger's seat in Pete's car. He had parked at the end of the street, so if my mother happened to look out the window by chance, she wouldn't see me getting in the same car as my English teacher. And she wouldn't see him kiss me, either.

"Thanks. I didn't really know what to wear." I glanced at what I was wearing. A cardigan, black skinny jeans, a t-shirt. Nothing fancy, but nothing too casual. I looked back at him. "Nice... football jersey?"

"Hockey. It's a  _hockey_ jersey, Patrick." He groaned as he shook his head and turned the keys. "Gordie Howe? Detroit Red Wings?"

"Doesn't ring a bell." 

He rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you don't live under a rock?"

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me where we're going?" I refuted. All he said was that he was going to take me out for my birthday and that he'd be at my house around 11. He ended up being twenty minutes late, and I had no idea where we were going.

He grinned and stuck out his tongue. I chuckled at his immaturity.  "That would be ruining all the fun, my dear." 

I huffed in annoyance. "You know, I could always call the police if you don't tell me. Report you for kidnapping."

"Oh  _please._ " He scoffed. "You'd never do that, and if you did, who says they'd believe you?"

I over dramatically gasped and put my hand over my heart as if he just shot it. "Are you trying to tell me I'm a bad actor?"

He just shook his head and bit his lip to suppress his smile. "I'm not trying to tell you anything."

"Whatever," I chuckled. "So, what are we going to do?"

"The question isn't what  _are_  we going to do," he started backing out of the driveway, "it's what  _aren't_ we going to do."

The two of us stayed silent, with the radio playing softly and statically in the background. I zoned out. getting lost in my thoughts. I was brought back when he turned on his blinker, turning onto the highway.  _North, to Chicago._ He looked at me, noticing that I was finally out of my own world."We'll be there in half an hour."

My eyes widened. "Are you taking me to Chicago?" I glanced over at him, and he just smirked. "Well?"

"I see you've put the first part of the puzzle together." He laughed as I groaned. 

"You're  _such_ an English teacher. A puzzle? Really?"

He laughed again. "Please, you'll enjoy it. Trust me." He tapped on the glove compartment. I raised an eyebrow.

"What, am I gonna find your stash of condoms or something in it?" I laughed as he uncomfortably shifted in his seat, opening the compartment. Inside were two tickets.  _Cubs vs. Braves. 1:25 pm._ "Alright. So you're wearing a hockey jersey to take me to Chicago to see a baseball game. Got it. Totally solved this puzzle. You're totally not a weirdo. I love this date idea."

"You know," he said, switching lanes, "I really don't appreciate the sass sometimes." He laughed. "Just kidding. I love it. I also love the fact that you're completely and utterly clueless."

"I'm not clueless, I've figured out this puzzle."

He shook his head again. "Not quite. There are two more pieces in the car somewhere.."

I sighed. "This is just too much, man." I began rummaging through his car to find some hints, but had no luck. I messed around in the glove compartment some more, but to no avail. After ten minutes of me searching in annoyance while he laughed at me, I gave up.

"Seriously?" He asked, and I turned my head. "Are you that stupid?"

"Wasn't it you who said my self-esteem isn't exactly the highest?" I questioned. "Because you're  _really_ helping it right now."

"Oh shut  _up."_

I smirked. "Make me."

He quickly glanced at me. His eyes met mine for a brief second, darkened with lust. "If I weren't driving right now I'd accept that fucking challenge." I didn't say anything in response. "Or I could've just said that. That worked. Also, check the door panel."

 I mentally facepalmed myself. I must've checked everywhere but there. I reached into the panel on the door and found a piece of paper.  _Lunch reservation @12pm. Abe Froman._ "I still don't get it. Who the hell is Abe?"

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "You don't know who Abe Froman is?" I shook my head. "The sausage king of Chicago?"

I burst out laughing. "Seriously? Is that what you call yourself? The  _sausage king?_ "

"No, it's not what I-"

"I always knew you were a stripper." I teased. "There was no way a guy as hot as you could make a career out of being an English teacher."

"You're such a fucking  _brat_." He said. "How do you not know who Abe Froman is?"

I shrugged. "He's probably some fictional character, isn't he? Did you make him up?"

"Yes, he's a fictional character, and no, I did not make him up. And how have you  _not_ figured this out yet! I mean, come  _on."_

 _"_ Well  _sorry_ I'm not really good at reading clues and subtle hints. Maybe you should talk to my teacher, shouldn't they teach that in English class? My teacher must really suck then."

"Hey!" He snapped. "I'll have you know, I may suck, but I don't spit after doing so."

I buried my face in my hands. "Why are you like this?" He only laughed in response. I looked up and was blinded by the glare of the sun, so I pulled down the sun visor, making two pieces of paper fall out.

"Congratulations, you just found the last piece of the puzzle!" He chimed. I picked up the paper, two tickets to the Art Institue of Chicago. 

"Okay, I'm just lost now."  I huffed in annoyance and crossed my arms. "Are you just taking me on a grand tour of Chicago or something?"

"Something like that." He looked over and smiled. "You're so adorable when you're angry."

I rolled my eyes. 

\---------------------------------------------

"Hey, batta batta hey batta batta SWING batta!" Pete cupped his hands and yelled at the batter. 

"You know, that's not really going to work," I said.

He turned to look at me and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What makes you say that?"

I scoffed. "Maybe because we're all the way past the third base, almost at the end of the stadium? We're about as far away as can be without being in the outfield. You really think he can hear you?"

He shrugged and turned back around, cupping his hands over his mouth again. "Hey, batta batta hey batta batta SWING batta!" He swung and missed, making it a full count.

He turned to look at me with a smirk plastered on his face. "Doesn't work, eh?" He went to cup his hands around his mouth again, and this time I joined him, along with several others surrounding us."

 "Hey, batta batta hey batta batta SWING batta!"  He swung and missed, striking out. The top of the seventh had just ended, the score still being nothing nothing.

"Teamwork!" Pete yelled and high-fived everyone around him, before turning to kiss my cheek, earning a chorus of  _aww's_ from a group of girls a few rows back. 

"Not teamwork, just sheer dumb luck."

"Oh please," he said, "You joined in too!"

I smiled and shook my head. "Whatever." As I watched the Braves take the field and begin throwing back and forth to warm up, I sighed and leaned back in my seat. Pete noticed.

"What's wrong?" He asked, leaning closer to me.

"Nothing."

He grabbed my hand, running circles over the back of it with his thumb. "No, you look slightly annoyed. What's wrong?"

I smiled. "Nothing's wrong, baseball is just a bit boring sometimes," I said. "I mean, they're not even playing! Each team warms up nine different times a game, and it's hours of watching them stand there, waiting for someone to hit a ball really far with a stick."

He laughed and leaned back, raising his glass. "It's more fun with beer. Couldn't imagine it without it," he said, taking a sip. "But hey, they're done now. Now we can actually watch why these men get paid hundreds of millions of dollars a year."

We sat and continued watching the uneventful game. The inning had almost completely passed, and no one had scored yet. There was a guy on first and a guy on second, and that's the most exciting the game has been. 

The batter made contact with the ball, and it was moving very far, rapidly. We stood up and yelled, hoping it would be a home run.

"It's going!"

"It's gonna make it!"

"No no no, it's going left!"

"Aaand that's a foul ball!"

But we continued yelling as the ball came closer and closer to us. Pete jumped on top of his seat and outstretched his arms, joining the crowd of people trying to catch it. 

And he did.

"Look at that! Look Patrick, I caught it!" He yelled, jumping down from his chair and sitting down. 

I sarcastically nodded. "Wow, that's so good honey, you should be a professional!"

"I should!" He put the ball in his other hand, shaking his right out. "Ow, I think I broke my thumb."

"Aww, poor baby." I cooed. "Do you want me to kiss it better."

"Yes." he pouted, and I laughed.

"What a baby. C'mere." I kissed the back of his hand. As he pulled it away, his sleeve rolled up. "Did you get a new tattoo?"

"Huh?" He pushed his sleeve to his shoulder. "Oh yeah, I got it a couple of weeks ago. Look."

_Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around every once in a while, you might miss it._

"That's pretty cool. Isn't that from- wait-" I paused, and he chuckled. My eyes widened. "Oh my God."

"Took you long enough." He laughed. "Seriously. how did you not pick up on it? The Howe jersey? The Art Institute? Abe Froman? This game? In this spot? I even caught the foul ball!"

I hung my head in shame. "Ferris Bueller's Day Off is literally one of my favorite movies, believe me, I'm so ashamed right now."

He bit his lip and patted my back. "There there, some of us just aren't as bright as the rest of us. I mean, we didn't eat at that same restaurant, maybe that threw you off," he said sarcastically.

"Fuck you!" I yelled. "You cheeky, romantic, idiotic fucker!"

He pursed his lips and scratched his chin. "Huh. I think that'ts the first time I've been called a cheeky romantic idiot fucker. I'm flattered Patrick, really. I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever called me!"

I groaned and laughed at the same time. 

"In the movie, they did leave before the game was over, you know."

"Oh thank God," I said. "I thought you'd never ask."

\-------------------------------------------------

We were almost home. His hand was clutching mine, in my lap. My head was resting on the window, my face turned to look at him. I smiled in content. 

"Today was absolutely amazing, by the way."

He turned to look at me, startled. He probably thought I had been sleeping. 

"Did you like it?" He shifted nervously.

I laughed. "Are you really nervous over whether I liked it or not?" I asked. He nodded, and I laughed again. "It was literally the most thought I think anyone has ever put into a date. It was perfect. It really was."

He blushed and looked down, gripping my hand a little harder. He wanted to say something but said nothing, biting his lip. He turned off the highway. "Am I taking you home?"

"You don't have to." I shook my head. "I got Andy to say I was sleeping over at his. I'm all yours until the morning."

He turned to look at me, lust filled in his eyes. "Good." He turned right towards his street, rather than left to mine. "What do you want to do later?"

I shrugged, smirking. "whatever you'd like to do."

He smiled, glancing at me. "You do look really good, by the way."

I blushed. "T-thanks. I-"

"But I'd think you look even better in your birthday suit. It's more fitting for the occasion" He turned to look at me, almost scared that he pushed his luck too far. I turned to smirk at him.

"Maybe I'll change once we get back."

He seemed to speed home after that. 

He pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. We both unbuckled our seatbelts. He was going to open the door when I grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. I cupped his face and gave him a gentle kissed. Surprised, he reluctantly kissed back. 

The kiss quickly turned from innocent to lustful. I had made my way over the console into his lap, straddling him. Our hands were flying everywhere, fingers entwined in hair, arms wrapped around waists, tongues tied, heavy breathing. 

I pulled my lips from his, causing him to whimper. I moved them to his neck, beginning to place gentle kisses.

" _Fuck."_ He breathed.

I smirked, pulling my lips up just long enough to talk."I have no idea what I'm doing"

"I'm surprised- fuck. Don't stop. Fucking  _hell,_ Patrick." He moaned my name in a way that made my stomach turn and parts of me to grow even more.

"Let's take this inside," I kissed him on the lips again, "shall we?"

We practically flung the door open and sprinted to the house. As he fumbled with the keys, I attached myself to his neck again. "Mother  _fucker,_ " he moaned. "If you don't stop I'm going to fuck you right here against the door."

"Mmm," I said as he finally opened the door. "And that's a problem because...?"

He slammed the door as soon as I was inside and shoved me against it, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head. "You're such a fucking tease." He said and I smirked. I went to kiss him but he dodged, going to my neck instead. Gasping, I bit my lip and leaned back my head. It was unlike anything I had felt before. His lips behind my ear was the most pleasurable thing I had felt in my life, next to what he did next. His hands moved down between my legs, and I let out a loud, embarrassing moan.

"Someone's excited." He muttered, smirking, hands letting go of mine and sneaking underneath my shirt. "Bedroom?"

I frantically nodded, and he grabbed my arm, pulling me up the stairs. He kicked his bedroom door behind him, practically throwing me on the bed. Our lips attached again, driven by lust, sloppily moving together as we tore our clothes off each other like sex-driven animals. Soon nothing remained but my boxers, as well as his and his undershirt.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, completely on top of my almost fully naked body. 

"Yes." I breathed

"A-are you sure? It's i-illegal-" 

I grabbed his shirt in my fists and pulled him inches away from me.

"Just fuck me."


	17. On Film or Between the Sheets

_"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them." - Ernest Hemmingway_

  ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~   _  
_

"I don't usually fuck on the first date, just so you're aware."

I fluttered my eyes open. I wasn't in my own room. No, the walls were much too empty, much too blue, and the bed was much too soft to be my own. The events of yesterday came rushing back into my mind. _Pete._  

"Mhm." I rolled over, rubbing my eyes. "I find that hard to believe."

He looked so peaceful. A slight smile grew across his lips that reached into his half-open eyes. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer and planting a kiss on top of my head. His voice was scratchy and tired and  _hot._ "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

I nodded and buried my face into his chest. "Five more minutes."

He laughed, his chest shaking with every breath. "It's ten in the morning. I've got to take you home eventually, and I'd like not to waste my alone time with you by just sleeping."

"Eh," I shrugged, "sleep is nice though."

"You're nice though."

"Exactly," I said, pulling the covers up to my chin. "So you should stay in bed with me longer."

I couldn't see him, but I could imagine him rolling his eyes. "You're going to waste the whole day in bed?"

I nodded, before sighing contently. "I'm so glad I'm gay."

He chuckled. "And you're saying this because?"

"Because," I started, rolling over, "I can't imagine straight sex being  _that_ good."

He laughed and shoved a pillow in my face. "Here I am, thinking that you're gonna say some cheesy shit. But no, you pull the 17-year-old teenager only caring about sex. Wow. I see how it is."

I stuck out my tongue. "I guess you have a nice face too." 

"Oh fuck you."

"You already did that," I smirked. He yelped and tried shoving the pillow in my face again, laughing, but I batted it away. He instead grabbed me and I snuggled back into his chest. 

"Oh for fuck's sake," he groaned. "We have to get up eventually."

I shook my head."No we don't."

"Stop acting like a baby," he teased.

I was already falling back asleep, my words slurring together. "I'll do what I want."

He tried leaving, but I wrapped my arms around him tighter. "Please, I really have to pee."

"Sucks to suck," I mumbled, my words barely leaving my mouth. 

"C'mon, 'Trick," he said, kissing my forehead. "Or else I'll just leave you here, rip off the covers, and crank the air conditioning so you're forced to join me."

My head shot up and I stared him down. "You wouldn't dare."

"Would I now?" He smirked, moving away from me, towards the edge of the bed.

"Fine," I sighed, caving in. "But only because I don't want to be cold."

"Mhm," he nodded, pecking me on the lips. "Whatever you say."

\-------------------------------------

The book was in my hands, open, the words staring at me from the paper. But I wasn't staring back at the. No, my eyes wandered just above them, to Pete's desk, which was not occupied by him, but rather than a substitute teacher. She claimed that there were no sub plans left for her and that we were just to do whatever we wanted, as long as it was quiet enough for her to concentrate on whatever was on her phone that her eyes were glued to.

We didn't have English class yesterday, so I didn't get to see him. It was also a half day for professional development or whatever, so there was no lunch block for me to spend in his room.

A voice in the back of my head said that Pete was ignoring me. Even after having a break from me yesterday, after spending an entire Saturday and a Sunday morning with me, he still needed the break. No one could handle me for that long.

But I knew that wasn't the case. Only a conceited, self-centered jackass would think that Pete took a day off work to avoid  _me._ And that's what the voice in the back of my head was. Nothing but a jackass.

He was probably sick, or needed a mental health day, or had a family emergency, or something. Maybe be had a meeting or a conference with other teachers in Chicago or something. Yeah, that was it. 

As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Blinking back to reality, I set the book face down on my desk and traded it for my phone.

**_1 new message_ **

**_From: Pete <3_ **

_Ur probably in class by now so u kno im not in school. Just sick. Im fine, just feel like crap. dont worry : )_

I sighed.  _He could be lying,_  the jackass that filled my thoughts was back.  _He could just be saying that so you don't_ think  _that he's avoiding. You. But he really is. He needs a break. But he'll continue to get close to you, just to make you fall even more in love, before he just lets go of you, leaving you just like-_

"Hey, Patrick!" A chirpy voice said from next to me. I looked up from my phone to see Sarah sitting in the seat next to mine.

"Oh, uh, hey." I pushed my glasses back up. 

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay? You seem upset about something."

I nodded. "No, yeah, I'm fine. Just fine. I just tend to zone out a lot, you know?"

She bit her lip, her expression still quizzical. "O-okay. Anyways, you seem like a nice guy, and I figured I'd ask you for something."

Now it was my turn to be confused. "Oh?"

"I know I'm not that close to you or anything but yeah." She sighed before continuing. "How do you know if someone is gay?"

I laughed. Man, have I been in her situation before. "You don't really. Not unless they tell you. People always claim to have an excellent gaydar, or whatever. You can always guess, but you're really just stereotyping, and you don't really know anyone's sexuality. Most people don't even know what they are themselves."

"Oh," she nodded. "That makes sense, I guess."

I smirked. "Why? You got your eyes on a cute girl?"

She looked up at my suggestive face and laughed. Probably out of discomfort, but it was something. She scratched the back of her neck, her face turning red. "Y-yeah."

I set my phone down on my desk and turned to face her. "So who's the lucky woman?"

With a slight smile on her face, she looked down. "I-it's this sophomore. Her name's Abby. She has the long, natural red hair?"

"Yeah, I know who she is. Wears a lot of black and red, freckles?" She nodded in response. "She's really pretty."

"She's fucking  _gorgeous_." She corrected me, laughing. 

I laughed too. "You just don't know if she swings your way?"

"Kind of," she started. "We've been talking a lot lately and we're really close. I came out to her recently, even though I've had a crush on her for  _ages_ now. She's said that she really doesn't label herself as any one sexuality, but she doesn't think that love should have to be restricted to one gender versus another. She doesn't really know what she is, she just knows it's not straight. But I don't know if she's willing to date another girl or not."

I nodded. "I mean, it sounds like you have a good chance. At least she's not straight."

She groaned and grabbed her hair. "Please, do you know what it's like to be madly in love with a straight person?"

Laughing, I agreed. "Please. It's the worst hell on Earth. So at least you're not in  _that_ situation."

"True," she said. "I just don't really know what to do."

"I feel bad because I do not understand the women mind in the slightest, especially when it comes to this kind of stuff. But I guess you could always casually bring up the topic in conversation and see how she reacts? Or tease her about some love interest and ask if she's got her eye on any guys or girls and again just see how she reacts? Don't girls do that at sleepovers and stuff?"

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah that seems good. I'll try that." The bell rang, and we stood up, grabbing our stuff. "I'll see you after school?"

Smiling, I nodded back. "Yeah, see ya."

\------------------------------------

I walked over to Joe and Andy. The two of them attended the meetings for the club that still lacked a name a couple of times, but not every week. Even so, we still didn't talk as much as we used to. Today, Sarah followed.

"Hey guys, this is Sarah," I said gesturing to her. She gave a small, shy wave.

"Hey, Sarah!" Joe said, turning his body and giving her a smirk.

I hit him on the arm before sitting down in the next desk over, Sarah following beside me. "Don't flirt with her."

"Why not?"

She leaned over me so she could see him. "Because I'm massively in love with another female who I'm not sure even is willing to date women."

He sank back into his chair, obviously let down, causing us all to laugh. "Oh."

Mr. Carver walked into the room, shutting the door behind him, causing our laughter to stop as we directed our attention to him. "Hey guys! I know Mr. Wentz isn't here, and we were going to switch topics over to mental health. We're still going to do something, but he has all the plans for that and has yet to send them to me. So I have absolutely no plans."

I bit my lip and nodded.  _Some teacher._

"I figured we could do something similar to what we did last week and just talk about-"

There was a snort from the corner of the class, and we turned to face the source. "I didn't sign up for this group therapy bullshit." He scoffed.  _Jake._

I rolled my eyes and turned to Andy. "What is  _he_ doing back here?" I whispered, and I was only met with a shrug. 

Carver sat on one of the front desks with a sly grin on his face. "Well, Mr. Teur," he started. "since you're so keen on this topic, why don't you start us off?"

"Where do I begin?" He rolled his eyes.

He shrugged. "Well, maybe about why you joined this club? Something that's been bothering you, whether it be in your life or someone else's?"

He let out a laugh. It wasn't an awkward, friendly one like the ones between Sarah and I. It wasn't one filled with happiness like between Pete and I. No, it was filled with bitterness, hatred, sarcasm. With malice and evilness. "This shit again? Just like last week? Why are you all so obsessed with why I joined this club?"

Again, Carver shrugged. "There's a reason behind every one of our actions."

"Fine." He scrunched up his nose in disgust, as if he were above all of us. "I came to this club to spend at least one more hour a week away from home. My little sister is a retard and it's a burden to take care of her. My mother can't do it because she's never home, working three jobs to support us. My older brother doesn't give a shit about any of us and locks himself in the basement, doing nothing but consuming food. 

"That food isn't even around often enough because we can barely afford to have one meal a day. My father's a drunk and continuously gets fired from his jobs. Whenever two of us, excluding my sister, are in the same room, we're fighting. My mother's been trying to get a divorce for years but is too scared to leave him. Every family dinner ends in a near hospital visit.

"My house isn't a home. It's a hell. I'm sick of it. Every word in my house is shouted, not spoken. There's not an ounce of love in there. We're always at each other's throats. My mother, sister and I all have bruises and scars littering our arms and torsos from my brother or father. And there's nothing that anyone can do to change any of that."

He leaned back in his seat, fists clenched, arms crossed, teeth gritted. "So that's why I'm in this shitty club. Full disclosure. Any questions?"

He was met with silence. 

Carver eventually cleared his throat. "Jake, do you mind speaking to me after the club?" He asked, his tone soft and sincere.

He replied with a scoff. "You wish." He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, storming out of the room. Mr. Carver tried calling out after him, even getting off the desk and following him into the hall, but was met with nothing but a middle finger.

Once he left the room, a quiet murmur spread throughout the room, as people turned to one another and started whispering to each other.

"Holy shit," Sarah said.

"I kind of want to feel bad for him," Joe whispered, "but he's such a  _dick._ I just can't."

We all nodded, agreeing. "I mean, I can see now why he's so angry and bitter all the time," she started, "and that he takes out the stuff he feels at home on others here at school, but even so, there are such better ways to handle that. It's really not healthy."

Joe snorted. "And to think we were just moving on to mental health, too." Andy turned around in his seat to smack Joe on the arm. "Hey, what was that for?"

Andy shook his head. "Seriously? Mental health's not something to be turned into a joke, especially in this club. That's the opposite of what we're striving to do." 

"I'm-"

"You need to start thinking with your head, Joe," I said. "Not with your dick. Not with your funny bone or whatever you think with just to crack a joke or two. Your head."

He opened his mouth, about to defend himself, when Mr. Carver stepped back into the room, causing all of the whispering to cease.

"Well," he said, the tension in the room thick with awkwardness. "Since we're on the topic, why don't we talk about healthy and unhealthy methods of coping."

He turned to erase what was on the whiteboard, before picking up a marker and creating a t-chart. I groaned, sinking into my seat. This was not a discussion I was looking forward to.

I glanced at my wrist, a faded butterfly poking out of my sleeve.

\----------------------------------


	18. Bring on the Rapture

_"The silence is the worst part of any fight, because it's made up of all the things we wish we could say, if only we had the guts." -Gray, Pete Wentz_

  ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~  

I rolled my eyes, another piece of crumpled yellow paper hitting the back of my head.

It bounced, landing in the same pile in the corner of my desk as the previous three. 

I shook my head.  _Why now?_ In the past few weeks, I didn't experience a single  _ounce_ of bullying. The pieces of paper thrown at the back of my head had stopped since the Day of Silence, and I hadn't been thrown into a locker or beaten to a pulp in a bathroom since the poetry slam. Jake, despite his previous appearances after school, hasn't even thrown a dirty look my way.

So when the fifth note hit me, I nearly slammed my pencil down on the desk in frustration. Snatching it off of my desk, I almost tore the piece of paper opening it.

_Why are you ignoring me? I have you and your boyfriend's futures in my hands. I suggest you pay attention._

My stomach immediately dropped. My eyes widened, heart pounding. I folded the note as neatly as I could, which was near impossible as my hands were shaking.  _No. They can't know. No one can know._

I tried to be as subtle as possible as I opened the other notes. I didn't want whoever it was to see my freaking out over words scribbled on a piece of paper. But they were dogs, they were able to  _smell_ my fear. I could hear snickering from the back of the classroom.  _Matt._ He was one of Jake's friends. The person who had thrown me into a locker moments before Pete found me all those months ago.

_Hear you finally got yourself a boyfriend._ _Too bad you won't keep him for long._

_I know. I know everything!!!_

_How bad would it be for the two of you if the entire school found out? Students, teachers, even the principle? You could kiss your freedom goodbye._

_How are you going to love each other when he's in jail?_

I took a deep breath.  _They probably have no proof. They're just trying to get to you._ I glanced upwards at the clock, relieved that there were only minutes until the bell rang.

I just wanted to run.

I just wanted to run away to a world where none of this existed. I wanted to leave everything about this school behind. I wished to be in a place where I wasn't looked at as  _that one gay kid_ , where people treated me differently just because of it, where I was thrown to the ground and dragged into bathrooms. I just wanted to grab Pete's hand and run away from it all, run away to a place where we didn't have to hide.

I didn't want to have to look back, to have to look over my shoulder all the time. How can people go on and live their lives without being in a constant state of fear? How is it that some are able to do this, while the rest of us shake with every step?

The bell rang, causing me to shove my work in my bag and the notes into my pocket. My goal was to get there before anyone else. I  _needed_ to talk to him. I nearly bolted to his room, hoping to get there before anyone else. 

I suddenly felt the wind get knocked out of me. I flew to the side, my back slamming straight against the locker. I groaned as an arm was pushed up against me, causing the knob to dig into my back.

"P-please just leave me alone." I croaked. My eyes were squeezed shut in fear, I couldn't even tell who grabbed me.

There was laughter. "Fine, but only because you said please." I opened my eyes just in time to see Jake's fist collide with my jaw. His grip released, causing me to slide down to the floor, holding my face as they walked away cackling.

I groaned as the bell rang.  _So much for being early._

I picked myself off the ground, sulking to class. As I approached the door, everything came flooding back to me. The fear, the anxiety, the anger.

I marched into his room, straight to his desk. I slammed my hand down on the desk, causing him to jump up and look at me. "You're late, Patrick-"

"We have to talk," I hissed, feeling the stern expression take over my face. "After class." I made my way to my desk without even looking at him. I didn't want to look at him, I  _couldn't_ look at him.

A wave of guilt washed over me.  _This was my fault._

I was the one who had let it slip. Andy had found out. He probably reverted back to his old ways, turning his back on me, screaming out my secrets for all to hear. Now everyone knew, and Pete would be ruined all because of  _me._ He would lose his job. His reputation wouldn't just be ruined, it would be  _shattered._ His first year of teaching, and he got together with a student? Who would even think of hiring him?

I stared blankly at the board as he taught the lesson. I watched the way his mouth so effortlessly explained the author's purpose of the essay. I watched as he moved with grace as he underlined and circled the words, how he did everything from memory with ease, with a slight glimmer of happiness in his eyes.

He loved his job, and I was taking that all away from him.

I was supposed to be taking notes, but instead, I ran my pen along the side of my paper, moving it up and down, side to side, swirling it around and wasting the ink. I completely disregarded anything Pete was saying, not paying an ounce of attention to him. I just let the ink flow, completely lost in my thoughts.

A hand was placed on my shoulder and I jumped. "Patrick," I turned my head to see Pete, "are you having trouble with the assignment?"

I tried to read what was on the board, but my vision was blurred with tears. "I-, I j-just,"

"Do you need to go to guidance?" He asked, a concerned expression blatantly plastered across his face. "You can step outside if you need a minute."

Taking a deep breath, I tried to control my body from shaking, but had no luck. I saw Jake snickering to his friend Jonah out of the corner of my eye. "No," I said. "I'm fine here."

"Are you sure-"

"I feel safer here." I cut him off, even though my voice was a whisper. He nodded, returning to his desk, but not before letting his hand linger for just a second too long on my shoulder, trailing it so that it brushed my hand. I almost felt guilty at his sincere actions.

I could feel his eyes burning into my head as I tried to complete the assignment. He was obviously worried about me, and he had every right to be. When the bell finally rang, it felt as though a concrete blocked had been lowered into my stomach. I did  _not_ want to have this conversation.

Once everyone made their way out the door and he locked it behind him, I grabbed my bag and made my way to Pete's desk. Unzipping the bag, I felt a pair of arms snake around my waist, a kiss planted on the side of my neck. The gesture would normally make my heart swell with infatuation, but instead filled me with guilt.

"Please don't be sad," he said. "It'll be alright-"

"Stop." I cut him off. 

He took a step away, surprised at how I snapped at him. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head.  _He was going to hate me._ I grabbed the papers from his desk and shoved them into his hand. 

Confused, he smoothed out the five sheets, reading them over again. He ran a hand through his hair, groaning, before slamming his fist down on his desk. I instinctively took a step away, and he nearly flung open his desk drawer, taking out more notes.

"I have the same ones." I looked down at the words scribbled in ink, so very similar to the ones thrown at me earlier today. I lifted my gaze back up to meet his, quickly averting my eyes back downwards. "Who did you tell?"

"I didn't tell-"

"Look at me!" He yelled, his voice escalating as he took a step forward, grabbing my shoulder with his hand, eyes wide, nostrils nearly flaring. "Who did you tell?"

"I didn't tell anyone!" I screamed back, shoving his hand off his shoulder. "Andy and Carver found out, they're the only ones I know about! I should be asking you," I shoved a finger into his chest, "the same damn question!"

He took a step back, laughing. "You honestly think that  _I_ told someone about this?" He gestured between us. "You have nothing to lose here Patrick, I'm the one who's going to be royally fucked! It's your fault!"

"We're in this together, you asshole!" I took a step towards him, surprised at my own bravery. "Don't go around blaming me for shit that I didn't do."

"Well who else could it have been, Patrick?" He lowered his voice. "I didn't tell anyone. And  _you're_ the reason Andy found out."

"And  _you're_ the reason that Carver-"

"He said he wouldn't tell anyone!" He shouted back, cutting me off.

"So did Andy!" Stepping back, I groaned, gripping my hair. "Why are you making this  _so_ difficult?"

"Oh," he scoffed, " _I'm_ the one making things difficult?"

"Open your eyes!" I over dramatically gestured to the air. "I came here, shaking, crying, because someone did something to  _me._ Someone did the same exact thing to you, and suddenly it's my fault? I'm just as scared as you are! Instead of fucking yelling at each other and blaming each other, we could be trying to fix this!"

He was silent for a moment before speaking again, his voice almost inaudible. "But it's your fault."

"That's it!" I cried. "This is fucking bullshit. Tell me right here, right now, exactly  _why_ it is my fault without just throwing around blame."

He was silent, shifting weight from one foot from the other. I walked up to him, my face inches from his. I lowered my voice to barely a whisper, which was frighteningly different than the volume of our argument. "Tell me. Tell me or apologize, or else I'm going to walk right through that door and not look back."

His eyes met mine. They were no longer filled with anger, but with hurt. I was  _so_ unbelievably mad at him, but I just  _so_ wanted to kiss him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I-I shouldn't have raised my voice like that. And blamed you, and everything. I'm sorry."

I took a step back. "thank you-"

"I'm sorry for everything."

I raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't meet my gaze. 

"Pete-"

"I'm sorry." He choked. "We- we can't do this."

"No." I rushed to him and grabbed either side of his face. My heart began quickening, my adrenaline rushing.  _He can't be serious._ "No, no, no! You can't just  _give up_ on us because of some stupid note!"

He shrugged me off of him. "I can do what I want!" He said. "I'm sorry, but I'm not risking my job over this shit!"

I felt all of the color drain from my face. His immediately fell too, as he realized his words stung. I tried not to let it show, but my voice became shaky. "You're a fucking liar." I said. "You promised! You promised me! You said that I was worth it, that you would risk  _everything_  for me! I get it if you don't feel that way, but you can't just tell me something like that and not live up to it!"

"You don't understand! You don't know how goddamn  _hard_ it is to keep this a secret, it's killing me inside! You're only a junior, I can't wait that long-"

"But I can!" I was becoming increasingly less stable. My throat began closing up, my hands shaking. "We've been doing just  _fine,_ I don't see why-"

"The notes, Patrick."

"They're pieces of paper!" I stormed back to the desk, grabbing them to hold them up in the air. "It's bullshit, just empty threats!" I ripped them in half, throwing them back down.

"But-"

"Can't you just fucking listen without being so damn ignorant!" I snapped, my shakiness becoming due to anger. "They have no  _proof."_

"You don't und-"

I marched back over to him, grabbing one shoulder with one hand, pointing with the other. "Don't you  _fucking_ dare starting with this not understanding crap. You're the one who doesn't understand! Don't you see that for me, it doesn't stop at the notes? I was thrown into a locker on the way over here! All the shit is starting back up again! I'm being dragged into bathrooms and getting black eyes, but the pain is  _worth it_ because of  _you_. So you're right, I  _don't_ understand. I don't understand how I can put up with all of this, but you go and give up at a piece of paper."

He didn't respond. The only sound in the room was my panting, the fury still evident. He merely lifted up his hand, delicately grazing it along my jaw. I winced, positive that a bruise was forming. 

He shook his head. "I'm so, so sorry-"

"Then do something about it!" He remained silent, his expression entirely vacant. "I'll fight for you, but only if you fight for me, goddamnit! For us!"

The silence that followed was deafening. He continued to not say anything, to not show any emotion.  _He doesn't love you. If he would, he would hold on to you. He's letting you go._

 _He could never love you._ I stared at my feet, biting my lip.  _No one ever could._ Shutting my eyes, I tried to take a deep breath, failing, my throat continuing to close.  _He'd be so much better off if he never met you._ It, along with my eyes, began swelling up.  _Stop it. Not here._ But my eyes ignored my brain, tears beginning to spill.

The silence was broken by a single sob. 

"Can we  _please_ not do this now?" The words barely escaped my lips. I felt like I was walking through a field filled with landmines. One wrong move, a wrong breath, a wrong word, and I was going to explode, my emotions becoming uncontrollable.

I looked up to meet his eyes, which was a mistake. 

My knees buckled. He ran forward, grabbing me before I hit the floor, helping me back up. I began sobbing into his chest. His arms were wrapped tight around me, his hand slowly stroking my hair.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I'm so so  _so_ sorry. I wasn't thinking straight. I was in the moment, I'm sorry."

I was about to forgive him when a wave of hatred washed over me. I shook my head. "No. It's  _not_ okay."

"Patrick-"

"No!" I choked, pushing him away. He wouldn't let go, causing me to flail within his arms. I turned to face him, pressing both hands to the center of his chest. Eventually, I was able to push him away.

I probably looked like a maniac, my face red, tears polluting my skin. I was hysterical.

He reached out for me.

I ran. 

My feet propelled me through the halls, taking the all too familiar path to the most unused bathroom in the school. I locked myself in the stall, pulling my feet up on the seat, leaning into my lap and letting the tears just flow. And flow. And flow. To the point where it wasn't smooth, they were no longer flowing. Every tear was painful to let go of, and every breath felt like an asthma attack.

And even though so much had changed, I was still doing the same thing I did not too long ago. Locked in the bathroom, crying my heart out during lunch, I was in the same position I was before Pete even placed a goddamn foot in this hell of a school. 


	19. Put Your Curse in Reverse

_"We never believe we'll crash... until we're falling." -  The Upside of Falling Down,_ _Rebekah Crane,_

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

"Hey Patrick, you alright?"

"Huh?" I looked up, then glanced back down. I was pushing my food around in my container, just staring through the table. I cleared my throat and forced myself to look over my side to Joe. "Yeah, I'm good."

His quizzical expression did not change, and I bit my lip and avoided the stares. Andy shot a concerned face at me from across the table."Are you sure? You've been really quiet lately, and you don't ever eat lunch with us. Is everything okay?"

I sighed. I wanted to tell them everything that was going on. I wanted to talk about Pete, about the notes, about the bullying starting back up again. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I tried my best to put on a smile, but it fell flat. "Look, guys, I really appreciate the concern. Really. But it's fine, I promise. It's nothing I can't handle."

Joe opened his mouth to say something, leaning forward, but Andy shot him a look and he moved back.  He settled for placing a hand on my shoulder. It was a genuine gesture, but it only reminded me of  _him._ "Well, if you ever need anything, just let us know. We're here for you."

I looked up to see his faint smile, and I nodded. And everything went back to normal.

The two of them continued their heterosexual flirting with each other, while still managing to debate about which girls were getting hotter and which peaked sophomore year. 

"C'mon. You  _cannot_ tell me Jennifer Willner doesn't look hot in that top. I followed their eyes to the next table over.

"She's not hot." I mumbled, causing Andy to laugh.

"See Joe? I told you!" He stuck out his tongue. "Patrick agrees. I win. Her sister is  _so_ much more attractive."

Joe groaned. "That's not fair! He's gay!"

I shrugged. "She's not hot. That's the argument at hand."

He only rolled his eyes, causing me to chuckle a little. He was going to say something, but his face immediately fell, his eyes widening. "Patrick-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, I felt a cold liquid poured all over my head. I shut my eyes tight, the milk getting into my mouth.

"Hey, guys, look at this fag!" Jake's voice rang out across the cafeteria, followed by laughs from the surrounding tables. I threw off my glasses, trying to wipe my face with the sleeves of my hoodie. I couldn't see anything that was happening, my eyes stinging as I just made it worse. 

"Hey, fuckface!" I heard Andy scream. I groaned, knowing this was going to get ugly. Jake laughed back, his voice growing closer. 

Someone put their hand on my shoulder, causing me to nearly punch them out of fright. "Hey, it's just Joe. I got some napkins."

I shook my head, wiping the milk off my lips. "I just want to get out of here."

"Okay," he whispered, pulling my arm up. I felt his hand on my back, pushing me out of the now roaring cafeteria. I hung my head in shame, shuffling my feet, Joe leading me throughout the halls. I finally managed to dry my eyes enough where I could actually open them without them burning.

Thankfully, the bathroom was vacant. I turned on the faucet and stuck my head under the sink, trying to rinse the liquid out of my hair before it started to smell.

"That guy is a fucking  _dick!_ " Joe yelled, nearly punching the wall. "I mean, who would even  _do_ that to someone."

I lifted my head, shrugging, as I wiped my face. My voice was barely audible, a croak. "He's done worse."

He didn't hear me. He took the napkins, drying my skin for me. "I mean, not only is that a dick move, it's  _humiliating!"_

"I get it-"

He threw his hands in the air. "Who would even-"

"I get it!" I cut him off shoving his chest. He stumbled backward, staring at me with wide eyes. I took my glasses from his hands, cleaning them with the bottom of my shirt. When I put them on, he was still staring, and I felt the heavyweight of guilt pull my heart down. "I-I'm sorry."

He sighed, shaking his head. "No, I'm sorry. I should've just shut my mouth." He dropped his bag to the floor next to mine, which he must've carried from the cafeteria. He sunk to one knee, unzipping the canvas, pulling out a black t-shirt.

"Here." He tossed the fabric to me. "I brought it for gym class, but you obviously need it. I have another one in my locker, anyways."

I bit my lip, staring at the shirt in my hands. "I'll turn around, geez." He said. I nodded before turning around myself, changing clothes as quickly as I could. 

"You can look now." He turned back around, his mouth agape.

"You've lost a lot of weight." He mumbled. "My clothes used to fit you perfectly."

I looked down at the shirt. He was right. Whenever one of us would spend the night, we'd just borrow the other's clothes. With him being much taller than me, the only thing we could share were shirts, but we still had virtually the same size. Now, the t-shirt no longer hugged my sides. It fell loosely over my shoulders, a great amount of space between it and my stomach.

He buried his face in his hands. "I'm still so  _so_ sorry, Patrick. For leaving you when you needed us most. We're just as bad as Jake."

I squeezed my eyes, fighting the water that was coming to them. "It-it's okay. You're here now." I croaked, opening my eyes again.

"I hope Andy is beating the fucking  _shit_ out of him right now."

I gave a small laugh. It started out as a chuckle, but my shoulders fell, collapsing, my head hanging. The tears came back, beginning to flow, my laughs turning into sobs.

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him. I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his neck, his curly hair brushing against my forehead.

His hugs weren't like Pete's.

And that made me cry even more.

The bathroom door burst open. I pulled away, sniffling, wiping my eyes under my frames. 

"I've been looking all over for you guys," Andy said. He took a step closer to me, draping an arm over my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Jake's in the office. I gave him one hell of a black eye, almost got in trouble for it. But Mr. Wentz let me slide."

I tried not to wince at his name but failed. I couldn't tell if he noticed, as I covered it up with the wiping of my eyes for the thousandth time the week.

"He's  _pissed,_ you know," he said. I could feel my heart being pulled in two directions. Half of it was feeling infatuated, longing for him, and glad that he was protective over me. But the other was broken, bitter, disgusted. It cringed at his name and wanted nothing to do with him. "He's looking all over for you."

"He's so creepy," Joe groaned. "Have you seen how he stares at you after school? It's kinda weird. He also thinks he's so  _hip_ and  _cool_. Everyone loves him, but he just weirds me out." He shivered, and I chuckled, despite wanting to get defensive. 

"Anyways," Andy said. "I say we ditch. Go to Ricci's, grab some pizza, go home and binge watch Netflix?"

I nodded, giving a slight smile. "Yeah."

"Let's go then!" Joe yelled, thrusting my bag at me. We walked out of the bathroom, through the halls, Andy's hand resting on my back, right above my backpack. 

I heard his voice, causing e to stop in my tracks, my heart pulled in two directions again. I shook it off and kept walking, ignoring the stares from Andy and Joe. His footsteps got closer, and I shut my eyes.  _Please go away._

"Patrick!" His voice was directly behind me. I couldn't keep ignoring him. I turned around and faced him, staying silent.

"I heard about what happened in the cafeteria today." His face was full of concern, his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows, raised, pushed together, his eyes soft. "Are you okay?"

I nodded.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

He sighed, knowing he was going nowhere. "If you need anything, my door is open."

I nodded.

"Goodbye, Patrick." He sighed, walking away, leaving us to continue out the doors to the parking lot.

"I told you," Joe said. "Fucking weird."

\------------------

_"Tag! You're it!"_

_I giggled and slid down the slide, away from him._

_Jake._

_"Stump!" He yelled, leaning over the edge of the platform. He glared at me. "I thought we were a team!"_

_I stuck out my tongue. "What you gonna do about it, Teur?"_

_A devious look spread across his face. Even though it made him look even cuter, I was still scared. "You didn't say no tag backs."_

_My eyes widened as I realized he was right. He jumped onto the slide, and I ran. He was always just behind me, nipping at my heels. We were both really fast. I played soccer, he played football._

_We ran. Around the monkey bars, between the swings, behind the bushes. I would constantly look over my shoulder, him smirking as he got closer, me giggling as I got further._

_Until one time, behind the bushes, I tripped and he landed right on top of me. I groaned, rolling over, so he was face to face with me. His eye looked right into mine, and my heart started racing._

_"Tag," he said, leaning in. I barely even registered the fact that his lips touched mine. He kissed me. My first crush, Jake Teur, had actually kissed me."You're it."_

_There was a scream. We both stood up and ran around to the other side of the bushed. Katie Patterson was staring into the bushes, where we just were. She turned around to face us, pointing at Jake. "Jake kissed Patrick!"_

_"What?" He yelled, pushing me away from him. "No I didn't! That's disgusting!"_

_"Yeah, you did!" She gagged. "I saw it!"_

_"Nuh-uh!"_

_"Yeah-huh!" She squealed, starting to chant."Jake kissed Patrick! Jake kissed Patrick!"_

_More and more kids joined her, chanting, enclosing us in a circle._

_"Jake kissed Patrick! Jake kissed Patrick!"_

_"Ew! Two boys kissing? That's more gross than regular!"_

_"Jake kissed Patrick! Jake kissed Patrick!"_  

_"That means they're gay!"_

_"Jake kissed Patrick! Jake kissed Patrick!"_

_"My mommy said gay people go to h e double hockey stick!"_

_"Jake kissed Patrick! Jake kissed Patrick!"_

_"Jake kissed Patrick! Jake kissed Patrick!"_

_"Jake kissed Patrick! Jake kissed Patrick!"_

I sat up, finally forcing my eyelids open. 

I was on Joe's basement couch, the two of them sitting on the floor.

"You good?" Andy asked, and I nodded.

 I crossed my legs, sitting up. "You guys remember how nice Jake was when we were younger?"

 _"Seriously?"_ Joe spat. "You can't still be thinking about him."

"Shut up," I said. "It's important. I can't remember when he became such an asshole. We used to all be such good friends and so happy. Then we grew up, and I don't know what happened."

"Didn't he kiss you on the playground in like, fourth grade?" Andy asked, and Joe starting laughing.

"I remember that!" He wheezed. "He didn't come to school for like a week."

"Oh, that was it!" Andy shouted. "I'm pretty sure his parents found out about that and sent him to some Christian bible camp every summer, so he could 'pray the gay away'. He wasn't the same after that. The first day in middle school, he gave some eighth grader a black eye, and no one wanted to mess with him after that."

"He can't be gay," I said. "There's no way."

Joe shrugged. "That's not what his parents think, apparently."

"Don't you know how many girlfriends he's had?" I said. "He's dated practically the whole school."

"Dude," Joe said, pointing a finger. "In seventh grade, I heard a rumor that he banged Gabby McClellan and Ava Charleston, at the  _same time._ I think Ava confirmed it."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please.I bet even _I_ could get Ava Charleston to say she slept with me."

"It's called a beard." Andy didn't even look up from his phone. "I mean, there's a chance he's gay. Don't they say people make fun of their own insecurities that they see in other people?"

"But basically everyone  _except_ for Jake is accepting of Patrick, now. If he really was gay, don't you think he would've come out by now?"

"Exactly," I said. My phone vibrated beneath me. I pulled it out and saw that I had about half a dozen new texts from Pete, all of which I chose to ignore. If he really cared about my feelings, then he wouldn't have just thrown them away at the threat of a couple of notes.

But my phone didn't stop buzzing. I looked up from it, and my friends had gone back to whatever they were doing. Sighing, I opened the texts.

_Look Patrick. im rlly rlly sorry. I didn't mean to hurt u_

_im sorry_

_i hear about jake. R u okay?_

_where r u?_

_Please answer. Im worried._

_I saw u left. I just want u to know how incredibly sorry i am_

_We need to talk_

_I want u to know id risk anything for u. even my life. But we need to talk._

_Now._

_Another teacher knows._

 


	20. To The Pitch Black Streets

_"You cannot love a thing without wanting to fight for it." -_ _G. K. Chesterton_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

_Another teacher knows._

My stomach dropped.

"Hey, Patrick, is everything alright?" Joe asked.

I could barely get the words out of my mouth, shaking my head as my fingers flew across my keyboard.

**_To: Pete <3_ **

_I'm coming over._

"Are you sure? You look really pale," Andy said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shoved my phone in my pocket so he couldn't read my screen.

"Y-yeah my Aunt just-" I stuttered, unable to come up with the full lie. "It's just a family emergency. I have to go."

I stood up, Joe grabbing his keys, as I gave him a confused look. "I'll drive you." I tried to protest, but he wouldn't listen to anything that I tried to tell him. I unwillingly followed him to the car, Andy riding shotgun with me in the backseat. I could hardly even remember getting in the car and putting on my seatbelt.

He turned out of the driveway, towards my house, when I spoke up. "Actually, c-can you drive me to my cousin's house?"

He glanced in the rearview mirror as I bit my lip, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Where is it?"

"It's a street over from the park, on Forest Avenue." He turned the car around as Andy looked up to give me a quizzical stare. I immediately looked away, I was afraid that he would see through my lies.

I stared out the window, my mind racing.  _Which teacher was it? How much did they know? What would happen to me?_

_What would happen to Pete?_

I was so caught up in my worries that I didn't even notice we were on his street until Joe spoke up. "Just let me know which house it is."

I perked up, looking out the front window. "Uh, it's that yellow one up on the right, across from the big pine tree." He nodded, slowing down, as I glanced at my phone. "He said the front door's broken, so I'll just go in the back."

He nodded again as he pulled up to the curb.  _I'm glad I said right, so I didn't have to cross the street._

After giving so much false information, I didn't have the courage left in me to look either of them in the eye. I reached for the door handle, mumbling a 'thanks' as they wished the best of my non-existent aunt. I could hardly feel my legs as I was trespassing.  _What if the owner of the house saw me walking on their property, and yelled at me while they were still here?_

It didn't seem to be an issue, however, as I glanced over my shoulder when I got to the edge of the house. Their car was already around the corner, and I lingered for a moment until it was completely out of sight. I sprinted to the other side of the street before anyone saw me before I slowed to a walk as I made my way a few doors down.

I soon found myself standing in front of the blue door, my heart pounding as I knocked. The door barely creaked open when I was pulled inside, the door slamming and locking behind me.

A pair of dark, brown eyes were staring into my own. My breath became hitched in my throat, and I couldn't seem to move. Every emotion I've felt in a while hit me all at once, though I tried my hardest to not let it show. His body was nearly pressed up against his mine, one hand resting next to my head, as he hadn't moved since he slammed the door.

"How'd you get here?" I stared at his lips as they moved, dangerously close to mine.

It was difficult for me to start speaking. It was like the first time that we met,m y words were getting caught in my throat. "J-Joe drove me. Andy was in the car too."

He pounded his fist on the wood, causing me to jump. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, raising his voice and causing my heart to pound even harder. "Goddamit, Patrick-"

"They don't know I'm with you!" I shouted back. "I told them I had a family emergency with my aunt and needed to go to my cousin's. They dropped me off a couple of houses down, I didn't move until their car was gone! They have no idea that you live here, or that I'm with you!"

He took a step back, a wave of guilt seeming to hit him as his face dropped. "Oh."

"You would have known that if you just let me finish!" Even though his voice had lowered, mine hadn't, and you could hear it echo through the empty house. He just stood there, not speaking. "Did you just text me so that I could go through all this trouble to get here when you were just going to not speak to me once I did?"

He just stood there, shifting his weight from one foot from another. Realization hit me, and I felt even more anger begin to course through my veins.

"Oh my God-"

"Patrick, I can explain-"

"There is no other teacher, is there?" I threw my hands up in the air as he once again said nothing. "I can't believe you!"

He raised his voice back at me. "I knew it was the only way that I would be able to get you to talk to me!"

"Really?" I marched over to where he had backed away from me. "The only way? The  _only_ way?"

He nodded.

"What about caring about  _my_ feelings instead of your own for once? What about waiting for me to recover?"

He scoffed. "Seriously? Do you  _honestly_ think that I put my feelings above yours?"

"Yes!" I screamed. "Do you not remember why we're fighting in the first place?"

"I-"

"Don't interrupt me, you selfish prick! We're here because of  _you."_ I pointed my finger in his face. " _You_ were the one who just gave up. I  _begged_ you to take a chance, but no, you had to put yourself first. Oh no, someone's spreading a rumor! Better just take back everything I said earlier and be a cunt!"

He turned on his heel. "You can't run away from this, Pete!"

I followed his steps into the living room, where he suddenly turned around, nearly crashing into me. His voice was low, quiet and calm, and that's what scared me the most. "You're not the only ones with problems, you know."

"What are you-"

"You think it gets better, but it doesn't. It just fades to the back. You think it's gone, but it never really is. It's always just sitting underneath the surface, clawing, trying to break free. If you don't continually take steps to suppress it, it will always keep coming back."

I couldn't even respond to what he had said before he ran into the bathroom, locking it behind him. I stood in place, confused, until I heard the sound of a mirror sliding, probably to open a medicine cabinet.

My heart sank.  _No._

I threw myself against the door, banging my fist. "Pete!" I yelled.

The door opened immediately. "Sorry, I didn't mean to lock it." He walked right past me, slumping onto the couch. The worry I felt just moments earlier completely left, replaced with confusion again. I followed, sitting down next to him.

I gently put a hand on his shoulder. The softness of my voice almost scared me in comparison to the screaming match we had before. "Pete."

He sniffed, shrugging my hand off his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. You hurt my feelings, but the things that I said were totally uncalled for-"

"No." He said, perking his head up, a small smirk appearing on his lips. "What did I tell you about apologizing?"

"To not to."

Our smiles faded shortly after. He sighed running one hand through his hair, the other clutched around something.

"Seriously, I don't want you to apologize for anything that you called me. You're completely right, about all of it. I'm a piece of shit that needs a slap in the face every once in a while."

"P-"

He shoved his clutched hand towards me. I grabbed the bottle, turning it over, reading the label.

_Ativan_

"I've been on it for a while now. Back in high school, I started taking Xanax. But it just didn't work for me, and I spent  _years_ switching from drug to drug, trying to find something that would just fucking  _work._ " He groaned and twisted the bottle in his hands. "Xanax and Prozac and Lexapro and Zoloft and none it ever  _worked._

"Until I got this. But it worked  _too_ well. At one point I was hooked on it, I was taking too much. I eventually got back to normal, but I'm just sick of having to turn to a prescription in order to be normal. I don't want to have to find happiness in a pill.

"So recently, I haven't been taking it. I was hoping that with everything being okay with you, that I wouldn't need to rely on it. And it was working, for the most part. Until that one day, and I totally blew up on you. and I saw how much I hurt you, and that's all that I've been trying  _not_ to do.

"Before you freak out, I am back on it. I wasn't on it the day after, and I was just a complete fucking  _mess._ I couldn't think straight. But I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry for being so naive to think that I could actually be okay."

I didn't know what to say. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.  _You're the reason he stopped taking it._ I looked up to make eye contact with him, and the pain in his eyes made my heart split in two.

"It's fine, you don't care." He stood up. "I'll just go and-"

"No!"I grabbed his hand, trying to pull him back to the couch. He shook his arm free, beginning to walk away. I sprung up from the couch and chased after him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't-"

"No," I said. "I know you're supposed to be the big macho one, and it's your job to protect me. But it's  _okay_ for you to not be like that. You can come to me with anything, and I will be there for you. I care about you so much, if anything happened to you–I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

He sighed, turning around in my arms. "You were so angry before, and now you're so calm. It's really scary, actually." He gave a small chuckle.

"Oh, believe me, I'm still fucking  _pissed_ at you," I said, his smile falling. "But I forgive you."

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer, burying his head in the crook of my neck. "I'm such a mess, I'm sorry."

I laughed. "Please, you could never be a bigger mess than me."

He lifted up his head. "Don't say that."

"You and I both know it's true."

"No." He put one finger under my chin, gently raising it. "You, Patrick stump," he planted a small kiss on my lips, "are perfect."

I blushed, biting my lip as I stared at my feet.

"You're adorable, holy fuck." He smiled as I laughed, but his face soon fell.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I just don't understand how someone like you could be with someone as messed up as me."

"Because I love you!" I blurted out, not even realizing what I said until it came out of my mouth. He just stared at me, completely emotionless.

_He didn't love me back._

I shouldn't have been disappointed. After all, he was the one who had just chosen to give up, even if he wasn't in his normal mindset. But I was. My heart fell along with face, and I took a step back, looking at my shoes.

"I'll just"

He grabbed me by the wrist, tightly wrapping his fingers around my arm as he stopped me.

"Look, I'm so-"

"Say it again." My eyes found their way back to his, a stern expression on his face.

"Wha-"

"Just do it." He cut me off once again, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I want to hear you say it again."

His hand slid from my wrist to my hand, fingers lacing with mine. "I love you."

A smile became plastered across his face, causing one to sneak onto mine too. "I love you too. I've known it from the moment I saw you."

My eyes widened "Really?"

"Really."

\--------------------  
  
  


Despite my efforts, my eyes fluttered open, waking me up. I groaned, rolling over, closing them after they had barely even opened.  _Five more minutes._

I heard a soft chuckle beside me, causing my eyes to open for real.

"You're so cute when you wake up."

I smiled, shutting my eyes again before curling into his bare chest. "Shut up," I mumbled.

He chuckled again. "I'm serious, it's like a kitten. I bet you fall over once you stand up, too."

"Stop it." I buried my face into the crook of his neck, my arms wrapped around him."

"Aw, is sleepy Patrick blushing?" He cooed.

I lifted my head so I could see his face, and he laughed, causing me to blush even harder. "I will suffocate you to death with your own pillow if you don't stop."

"Oh no!" He laughed. "I'm going to get killed! By a kitten! I'm terrified!"

I let go of him and grabbed a pillow. "I'm warning you."

He shrugged. "You'll be the one to notify the school as to why I'm not coming in today."

I groaned, falling back onto the bed as I realized that we had school today. "Fuck me."

"Already done."

I slapped his chest, blushing even harder as the events of last night came flooding back to me. "Fuck you."

"Again, already done." I gave him a death glare that made him laugh even harder. "Geez, just having a little fun." He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on my lips. "I'm going to start getting ready. Feel free to take any of my clothes, something is bound to fit you."

I whimpered at the loss of contact as he got out of bed. He walked over to his bathroom, his ass on full display.

I whistled. "I'm loving the view from your bed!"

He turned around to glare at me before slamming the door shut, causing me to laugh to myself. I climbed out of bed, fully awake. I grabbed my glasses off the nightstand and boxers off the floor, putting them on, suddenly feeling less self-conscious.

After rummaging through his drawers to find an outfit, I finally settled on a pair of black jeans, a t-shirt and sweatshirt that was too big for me. Just as I was about to go downstairs, Pete emerged from the bathroom with only a towel on his waist and his hair dripping wet.

He leaned against the doorframe. "Like what you see?" He smirked when I didn't say anything before walking over to me and placing his hands on my hips. My breathing hitched. "I love how I still intimidate you."

I smirked. "I can't help it, Mr. Wentz."

"You're fully dressed, now's not the time to start getting kinky." He went to kiss me quickly, but I wrapped my arms around his neck, turning it into a full-on make-out session. "You're going to make us late." He said between kisses.

I pulled back. "And that's a problem because?"

He smirked, stepping back. "As much as I'd love to take you up on that, I also love my job. I'll meet you downstairs, help yourself to whatever you want."

I nodded before kissing him again and leaving the room. I couldn't help but note how eerily quiet it was as I made my way down the steps. I would never be able to live alone, I didn't know how Pete didn't just go insane.

I stopped by the front door to rummage through my backpack I had brought from Joe's, making sure I didn't leave anything behind. Satisfied, I made my way to the kitchen, picking my fedora and phone up from the floor beside the couch.

I spotted a charger plugged in by the counter. I hopped up, saving my phone the misfortune of dying after being on all night. I passed the time by mindlessly swiping through my social media, full of pictures of people I don't like and follow requests from people I didn't know.

I nearly screamed and dropped my phone when Pete appeared out of nowhere. I looked up, seeing him dressed in his usual dress shirt and tie for work.

"Hey, we're really late. Grab something to eat for the car ride, do you have your school stuff?" I nodded. "Great, let's go."

I jumped down, unplugging my phone. I followed Pete, reluctantly grabbing an apple. He turned around, noticing that I was lingering. "Sorry, I don't usually eat breakfast."

"'Trick, you know you didn't eat anything last night. I don't care if it's just an apple, you need some sugar in your bloodstream. I don't want you passing out in the middle of class."

I nodded. "Okay."

He grabbed my hand. "C'mon, let's go."

We rode in silence on the way to school, a Green Day CD playing softly from the speakers. I couldn't help but notice that even though we were back together, things were still slightly off.

"Did you take your medication today?" I asked, and he turned his head, his eyes wide.

"Shit-"

"Hey, it's okay," I said, my voice soft. I tried to say something else, something comforting, but I couldn't.

"I have an extra bottle in my desk at work. I'll take some as soon as I get to school." He said, and I nodded. "And I'm not going to pull another 'I'm leaving you' stunt again, but we do need to lay some new ground rules."

My mood fell. "Oh, okay."

He reached across the console, grabbing my hand. "I don't want to, but we have to be more careful. Just in case." I nodded. He took a deep breath. "I'll do my best to not ogle at you in class anymore, and I- you- I don't think we should do the lunch thing anymore."

I bit my lip, looking down, and his grip on my hand tightened. "I just don't think it's a good idea for us to be seen alone together. I know you may not feel comfortable in the cafeteria, and you're still welcome to spend lunch in my room as long as you have a friend with you."

I saw where he was coming from. I didn't want to give up my daily lunch sessions with him, and having someone else there would definitely be awkward, but it was better than being in the cafeteria.

"Also, I'm going to have to drop you off around the corner of the school. Is that okay?" He asked, and I nodded. He turned off the main road to a residential one behind the school, where no one would see us. "Are you okay?"

I sighed. "I'm a little... off, but I'm okay."

He pulled to a stop, leaning over to kiss me once again. In the past few hours, I haven't been able to get enough of him. He was finally  _mine_ again, and I couldn't be happier.

"Text me when you get to school safely, okay?"

I smiled as I unbuckled my seat belt. "Okay." I stepped out of the car, throwing my back over my shoulder. I turned to say goodbye and shut the door.

"Patrick?"

I stopped. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

A grin found its way onto my face. "I love you too."

 


	21. Former Heroes Who Quit Too Late

_"You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own. And when you mess with one part of a person's life, you're not messing with just that part. Unfortunately, you can't be that precise and selective. When you mess with one part of a person's life, you're messing with their entire life. Everything. . . affects everything."_    _\- Thirteen Reasons Why, Jay Asher_

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Pete and I were still in that "honeymoon" phase, and I had no idea when it would end. Despite our giant fight a month earlier, my heart still fluttered whenever I heard his name. It felt that this puppy love would never break, and that we would be stuck like this forever.

"Hey, 'Trick?"

I rolled over, my hand drifting up to graze across his stubble. I looked into his eyes, almost being able to see my own in them. "Yeah?"

"Doesn't your mother ever worry that you're not home?" I sighed at the concern in his voice.

"She hasn't been home too much herself. She's been spending almost every night at her new boyfriend's place, she does make sure to call me every day at least."

His face fell. "Oh-"

"Don't worry, I'm happy for her. I really, genuinely am." I said, putting on a smile to prove my point. "She's really happy with him, and I haven't seen her this happy since before the divorce."

He nodded, not pressing on the background information of my parents' divorce. That was for another day, but not for here, not for now. I cuddled into his side, and he chuckled. "You do know that if we don't get up, like,  _now,_ then we're both going to be late for school."

"Mhm," I pressed my face into his skin, breathing in his scent, taking in the warmth that seemed to just radiate off of him. "It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

He chuckled again, his morning voice still hoarse. "I'll make you bacon."

I bolted up, already tasting it in my mouth. "You have a deal."

\-----------------

The smile immediately fell from my face as my phone was knocked from my hands, and I was shoved into the locker. I scrambled to grab it before anyone could see the text messages that were from Pete. Quickly recovering, I caught a glimpse of blonde hair around the corner.

_"You have to learn to stand up for yourself, you know," Pete said._

_"I'm trying!" I was nearly scream-crying at this point. "But I just don't know how. I try and all I do is get hurt and I just don't know what to_ do  _anymore."_

_He stepped forward, planting a kiss to my forehead. "I know you're trying," he began, "but sometimes trying just isn't enough. You have to just do it."_

I shoved my phone in my pocket, chasing Jake through the nearly vacant halls, as class was about to begin. He ran into the empty bathroom, and I followed him.

"What is your problem?" I yelled as soon as the door closed behind him.

He casually turned on the faucet, washing his hands. "Sorry, the girls' bathroom is next door."

All of the rage, terror, and sadness that I have felt every time he pushed me to the ground begin to bubble inside of me at one. "I'm talking to you!"

"Oh, were you?" He shut off the water and turned to face me, leaning back against the sink. "Have you finally outgrown your emo phase, and stopped trying to be invisible? Because it's still really hard to see you, ya know, with the gay and all. I don't think you're even trying."

_Sometimes trying just isn't enough. You have to just do it._

"Well, this is me trying, Jake!" I stepped forward. "This is me telling you that all the shit you're doing to me, it has to stop! No matter how many times you hit me, or throw me to the ground, or make fun of me, nothing is going to change!"

He laughed. "I'm not trying to change anything! I'm at the top, and little faggots like you are at the bottom. Me terrorizing you just emphasizes that point."

"Don't you  _dare_ call me that!" I screamed, stepping forward so that my face was in his.

"Get out of my face!" He pushed me off of him, but I stepped forwards again, the rage fueling my confidence.

"Or what? What're you going to do, hit me again? Do it! I fucking  _dare_ you."

"Get away-"

"Not so tough without your little followers, are you? You can't hit me when it's just us, because you're too  _weak._ Well I say  _fuck it_ , just hit me! It's not going to change anything, you're not going to be able to punch the gay out of me no more than I am able to-"

I was cut off when he made contact with my face. It wasn't his fist, however, that hit my mouth. It was his own lips. 

My heart stopped.

It froze, however, when the bathroom door opened. Jake pushed me away, but it was too late. 

"Holy  _fuck,_ you've infected him!" Matt, one of Jake's best friends, pointed at me. A pair of other football players followed him into the room. "Check it out guys, he's just like the faggot! Our favorite little Jake here is a fucking queer!"

I turned to face Jake, and no matter how much I have hated him for the past year, I almost felt bad for him when I saw the look of terror on his face. Tears in his eyes, he ran out of the bathroom, Matt's gang following him.

I stumbled backward against the sink, turning away from my own frightened reflection. Jake was now in the position that I had been not too long ago, when I had come out to my friends, and they did nothing but ridicule me. His friends, however, were a lot more violent than Andy and Joe. I knew the right thing was to go after him, but my feet stayed glued in place.

\-------------------------

The room fell silent as he walked in. His lip was busted, his eye purple, his blonde hair damp and strewn across his forehead. His clothes were disheveled, and he looked awful.

He looked broken.

Mr. Carter went over to Jake, obviously concerned. Jake shrugged him off and sulked to a desk in the back of the classroom.

Pete turned to me. He had just asked why I hadn't been in class earlier today, but Jake's entrance had distracted him. "Do you know what happened?" He whispered.

I shook my head. "It's not my story to tell."

We began the meeting, discussing potential activities to do for the end of the school year. The teachers wanted to "go out with a bang," and really do something that students will remember over the summer. 

The whiteboard was filled with ideas that we had brainstormed, and several of them were pretty good. "Well," Mr. Carter began, "a lot of these are really good ideas. Why don't you guys share your thoughts? No need to raise your hand or anything, just call out. And be one hundred percent honest. If you really think an idea sucks, say so!"

"I really think we should do one of the more positive ones," Sarah suggested. "A lot of these just spread awareness, they don't actually help anyone directly. I like where we pass out notes and flowers at the beginning of the day, it could really make someone smile."

Many people nodded in agreeance. Jake scoffed, and everyone turned to him. 

"What do you think, Jake?" Pete warily asked.

He sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes finally meeting someone else's. "It's a load of bull crap."

Pete coughed. "I'm sorry, could you elaborate?"

"None of this shit actually helps anyone!" He yelled, standing up from his chair. "All these mental health campaigns do nothing but make people feel worse about themselves! They're constant reminders that there's something  _wrong_ with you, and it makes me feel even more depressed!"

"Jake, there's nothing wrong with you. Do you want to talk outside?

He retaliated, tears beginning to stream down his face. "No, everything's wrong with me! I'm part of the reason why this school is so goddamn toxic! And it's not fair that people like Patrick can come out and be accepted and walk down these halls, but I'm forced to stay in the closet or else this," He pointed to his face, nearly poking out his eye, "happens to me! And I'm the one who's to blame, and it's all  _my_ fault. I'm a  _monster."_

He turned to me, his eyes staring into my own, causing my stomach to drop. The room was so silent that I'm sure everyone could hear my heartbeat., practically begging to jump out of my chest. "Patrick, I'm  _so sorry_  that this is what you had to put up with. If I had known- I would have never-" he trailed off, his words turning into sobs. His feet carried him out of the classroom, gradually getting faster until he was sprinting out the door, Carter following after him.

After minutes of awkward silence, Carter came back alone, shaking his head. He cleared his throat. "Um, I'm going to end our meeting for today early. We can pick our final event next week. You're free to go, just remember that if you  _ever_ need to talk, there will always be someone there for you."

Everyone filed out of the room fairly quickly, as everyone was more than happy to leave what happened behind them.

"I'm going to go back to look for him," Carver announced. "He left his stuff."

And then there were two.

I stood from my seat and nearly sprinted towards Pete, and he did the same to me, engulfing me in his arms. God knows how long we actually stayed like that before he spoke.

"Patrick?"

I lifted my head from the crook of his neck that I fit so perfectly into. "Yeah?"

"I need you to tell me everything that happened today with Jake." He could sense that I was uneasy, and he chose his words carefully. "I promise I won't tell anyone. Okay, I  _might_ tell Carver, but it all depends on what you say."

I groaned, stepping away from him and sitting on his desk. He sat next to me, carefully rubbing circles into my shoulder blade. "You can tell me anything."

I sighed, looking up to meet his eyes for a brief second. "I was by my locker when Jake knocked my phone out of my hand. And I tried to stand up for myself and do something right for once and I just  _fucked up_ so badly."

"Hey, you didn't-"

"I fucked up, Pete!" I yelled, jumping off the desk. I took a few steps away before turning back to face him. "Don't you get it? I've outed him to the whole school! I've fucking ruined his life, and it's all my fault!"

"How is it-"

"Because he kissed me, goddammit!" I screamed. The air suddenly seemed still, filled with only the sounds of my heavy breathing. His eyes grew dark, filled with a mixture of jealousy and rage as his knuckles clenched the table, turning the palest shade of white.

This is not a good time to get turned on, Patrick. 

"I'm sorry?"

I took a deep breath, calming myself down. "I followed him into the bathroom, yelling at him. He turned to say the usual crap he does about me, but I didn't take any of it. We ended up in a screaming match, and I guess I was just too close to him. He just grabbed my face and kissed me. And as soon as he did, a bunch of his friends walked into the bathroom. He ran out crying, and the next time I saw him was when he walked in here."

The look of anger washed from his face as he realized what happened. "Oh my God."

My hands flew to my face as I buried it in them. "I know, I really-"

"It's not your fault, okay?" He had gotten off his desk and grabbed my wrists, pushing them away to see my face. "Can I tell Carver this?"

I nodded, and he kissed my forehead.

"Then I will. And we'll find Jake, and we'll protect him and get this whole thing sorted out. It's going to be okay, I promise."

I sniffled, forcing the tears to not come as I looked up at him. "Really?"

"Really."

He gave a small smile, just enough to reassure me. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine in a soft, gentle embrace that never failed to make me melt.

Suddenly. light from the hallway spilled onto Pete and me as the door opened. We jumped apart, but it was too late. Whoever opened the door had definitely seen us.

And the person at the door was absolutely, completely, the utter worst person that it could have possibly been.

Jake. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking this out! Be sure to comment/kudo if you enjoy! If this work is not yet completed, you can find the full version on my Wattpad! I'm still in the process of moving my works from there to AO3.
> 
> https://www.wattpad.com/user/MrBendezedrine


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